


Movement in the Shadows

by Incuria



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh!
Genre: Gore, M/M, Mental Abuse, Physical Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Power Play, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Build, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-11
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-02-17 00:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 9
Words: 26,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2290043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Incuria/pseuds/Incuria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryou gets caught up in a power struggle between Marik and Bakura. Also Bakura mentally tortures Ryou with hallucinations. I suck at summaries. Rated for later chapters</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Ryou stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, water running in the sink and disappearing down the drain. His gaze passed through the water and into the space behind it, hands gripped the square edges of the porcelain sink. His knuckles were white. There was a sound coming from outside of the bathroom, and it had been going for a while, but the boy never heard it.

It wasn't until Bakura touched his shoulder that the world started coming back to the boy. Everything fell into place slowly around him, the cold press of the sink in his hands, the tightness in the back of his legs from standing too long and too still, and finally the cool trail of water running down his cheeks. Air filled his lungs like a rapidly expanding balloon, as if he might pop. He blinked twice before finally sinking back into his own body.

"—ou. Ryou!" Bakura's voice filtered into his ears slowly and it still didn't make sense. He met the taller man's eyes in the mirror; the same shape and color as his own, but so different. Ryou finally let go of the sink, leaving the outline of his hands in heat from his body. He reached out with numb fingers and turned off the water, twisted his body around, and leaned against the sink. Bakura stood close, invading his personal space. Ryou crossed his arms over his thin chest.

"What is it?" he asked, voice hoarse from disuse. The taller man looked him up and down. The two men looked nearly identical. They could be brothers, if not twins, though no one would ever mistake the one for the other. Ryou's features were soft, rounded, feminine. He may grow out of it some day, but he looked sweet and boyish. Bakura looked as if he were a few years older. In a way he was. He held a malice that Ryou never would. His eyes were the same rounded shape, but they looked narrow from his constant frown. Something swam behind his eyes, dark and fathomless. His chin jutted in a sharp angle, like the rest of his features. He had the lean musculature of a swimmer, as if he'd worked his body into something fierce and wild. Both boys had bright, pearl colored hair. They could have been brothers, but they weren't. Bakura was… Ryou had a theory that Bakura was his personal demon from hell. Some entity from a dark corner of the universe, made just for him, just to hurt him.

Ryou fixed his chocolate colored eyes on the floor, away from Bakura. Silence stretched between the two of them, filling the room and crowding them. Ryou didn't want to be this close to his dark spirit. Couldn't stand it actually. His arms pressed close to his chest, shoulders hunching forward and desperately avoiding eye contact with the other man. He licked his lips.

"What is it?" he repeated. Bakura held up a cellphone, Ryou's father's number flashed on the screen, the seconds ticking by in flashing numbers.

"Phone's for you. It's on mute." Ryou took the phone from Bakura's hand, face going a little paler.

"Shit, why did you answer it?" He unmuted the phone and pressed it to his ear, turning away from Bakura, as if that would afford him some sort of privacy. "Hello Dad?" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded tinny, far away.

"Ryou? Can you hear me now? Are you there?" His father was far away. He was in Egypt, far from Japan and far from his son.

"Yeah, yes, I can hear you now. Sorry."

"Ryou?"

"Yes?"

"Ryou, good, I can hear you now. I think I found a good spot. The damned reception in this country is awful. But you can hear me now?" Ryou nodded, then realized he couldn't see it.

"Yeah, I can hear you fine."

"Good. Ryou, we found something in the eastern quadrant. We found some pot fragments and what might be the remains of a well. We could have found a village!"

"That's great Dad. I'm really happy for you."

"Thanks kiddo. Listen… This find is too… I'm gonna have to stay for a few more weeks… possibly another few months. I'm sorry Ryou." Ryou held the phone tightly in his hand, pressing it to his ear. He had been staring at the shower stall, but now his eyes flicked over to Bakura. The demon's expression was guarded, blank, and vaguely menacing all at once. "Ryou?" His father's voice pulled him back to the phone.

"That's fine Dad. I understand. Would you like me to send you anything from here? I could put together a care package for you." He forced his voice to remain even. Everything had gotten worse after his father left. At one point Bakura had been nothing more than a whisper in Ryou's mind, eyes in the dark. Over time he had grown. Become more real, till he had become… He didn't used to have a body. When Ryou's father left, he developed flesh and blood.

"How'd I end up with a kid like you?" The relief in his father's voice was palpable.

"Just lucky I guess."

"I guess." There was some noise in the background of the call. "Uh oh, looks like a sand storm is headed for the site, I gotta go put down some tarps with everyone. I'll call you in a week kiddo. Bye for now."

"Bye Dad." But he was saying goodbye to nothing. His father was gone. Ryou stood frozen for a few more seconds, absorbing this new information. Bakura slipped the phone out of his fingers.

"What did he have to say?" Bakura asked, pocketing the phone. Ryou shrugged and dropped his hands down to his sides.

"Um…He's not coming home for a while longer. I'm not sure how long." His voice sounded hollow even to him. He straightened and tried to step around the taller man. Bakura stopped him with a hand on his chest.

"So it's just you and I yadonushi," Bakura hissed. His words came out as a threat, and it was meant to. He was pleased with the turn of events. Ryou forced himself to nod noncommittally. "I'm glad, little Ryou. Aren't you glad?" Again he nodded, trying to keep his face blank.

"Sure." He tried to step around Bakura again, but was stopped by his fist tightening in his shirt. "Bakura, get off of me…" The older man pushed him against the cold tiled wall. He took a step closer, shoving his face into Ryou's.

"Excuse me?" his voice came out as a deep, guttural growl. Ryou glared up at him, pushing the arm from his chest.

"I'm not in the mood, can you just get off of me," Ryou repeated, brushing past him and out into the hallway. He got about halfway to the kitchen before something stopped him dead in his tracks.

Amane.

She stood in the living room, outlined by the light filtering in through the closed curtains. She was wearing the same little yellow sundress with pink flowers on it that she'd worn when the truck ran over her, with the matching pink ribbons in her hair.

Ryou froze, the color draining from his face just as his stomach twisted into a tight knot. His dead sister took a tremulous step forward, hands outstretched toward him. He backpedaled quickly till his back was pressed to yet another wall.

"Onii-chan! Oniiiiii-chaaaaaaan!" Ryou shook his head hard, as if he could clear the vision in front of him by mere force of will. "Onii-chan, I miss you. Onii-chan it's so dark here…" The little girl's voice came out twisted and thick, as if she were speaking around a mouthful of syrup. As he watched a bright spot of crimson flew from her mouth to stain her dress, then more blood came. "Onii-chan come back with me…" Amane pleaded with him, more blood falling from her mouth, she'd caught up with him and wrapped her toddler thick fingers in the hem of his shirt. Ryou turned his head away, a fine trembling spreading rapidly through his whole body. Bakura leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, arms crossed casually over his chest and a wry smirk on his face.

"B-Bakura please…" His voice came out thick and tight. The demon could put images in his head, make him see whatever he wanted. Bakura's smirk widened.

"I'm doing what you waned yadonushi, I'm leaving you alone. Maybe you should tell her to get off," Bakura chided. Amane pulled insistnatly at Ryou's shirt, blood from her dress smearing on his pants.

"Onii-chan, pick me up!" she insisted, trying to climb up his clothes. Ryou pressed his hands and back to the wall, unwilling to pick the girl up but lacking the heart to push her away either. This wasn't his sister. He knew that, but the illusion was so real it was very difficult to remind himself. Tears ran down his face, trailing his cheeks and splattering onto the floor at his feet.

"Jesus Bakura, have a fucking heart!" he growled, forcing himself to make eye contact with his tormenter. Bakura shrugged nonchalantly and the little dead girl in front of Ryou disappeared, still begging her brother to pick her up. As soon as she was gone Ryou collapsed to the ground, his elbows balanced on his knees with his head cradled in his hands. Bakura moved closer, watching the younger boy on the floor and listening to his quiet sobs.

"Don't tell me what to do, respected landlord," he pushed all the malice he had into that one word, then left Ryou to his thoughts.


	2. Chapter 2

Ryou sat in the tub, water up to the tops of his bent knees. He was happy that unlike American tubs, Japanese bathtubs were deep. It reminded him of England. He sank a few inches deeper into the steaming water, pearl colored hair wafting around his shoulders in a cloud. He closed his eyes and sank the rest of the way underwater.

Pressure entered his ears, making the sound of his own heartbeat reverberate through the water and filling his entire mind. The heat of the water pressed against his eyelids as his back touched the bottom of the tub. His hair billowed around him in a white mist. Ryou stayed underwater until his lungs ran out of oxygen and his entire diaphragm twitched over and over with the need to replenish it. Finally he pushed up to the surface, water streaming down his face and into his eyes as he pulled in a deep breath. His first exhale came out as a wet and thick cough, but then he was able to breath normally.

"I was wondering if I needed to pull you out of there," said a mildly amused voice from the doorway. Ryou glanced over at his dark counterpart and slicked his bangs up out of his face. He shrugged.

"Would you have?" Ryou asked flatly. Bakura took a few steps into the bathroom, turning looking at himself in the mirror over the sink. He mimicked Ryou's shrug.

"It would cause me problems if you died," he said absently, picking up a hairbrush and raking it through his tresses a few times. It did little to calm the wild, mussed nature of his hair. Ryou turned the hot water knob with his foot, feeling the heated water shoot and spread around his feet. The tub wasn't getting cold, and his skin was already a bright shade of pink, but he seemed to want the heat today. Near scalding.

"Why? You could take over the apartment. And even i—when Dad comes back he wouldn't know the difference between me and you." He'd almost said 'if'. Bakura leaned his hip against the sink and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at his doppelganger in the tub.

"I don't want your life Ryou. I never have; you know that," Bakura commented, tone unreadable to Ryou. The smaller boy glanced up, a bitter look in his eyes far beyond his years.

"Sure." Bakura seemed about to press the matter, but didn't. He glanced at the mirror again.

"I'm going out."

"Okay."

"Not going to ask where?"

"Do I want to know?" Bakura shot him another unreadable glance, then walked out the door.

"Don't wait up." Ryou let out a bitter little laugh. He never did. The more time spent away from the demon the better.

He spent the better part of an hour in the bath, continuously feeding it hot water till the heater finally quit. Eventually he got out, wrapping a towel around his waist and flopping another over his hair. He wandered the apartment for a little while, throwing out a few soda cans and putting away the little collection of dishes that always accumulated next to Bakura's side of the couch. He switched out of the towels and into a pair of sweat pants. He didn't bother with a shirt. After the bath his skin seemed to be more sensitive than usual and it was still pink from the too-hot bathwater. He watched a movie and did a load of laundry and was on his third circuit of the apartment when the door swung open. Ryou glanced uninterestedly at the door as Bakura came in, but then froze as he was followed by a second figure.

The second was a few inches taller than Bakura, and would be even more so than Ryou, had skin the colored of polished bronze and eyes an odd color of blue—almost violet. Even under the man's long sleeved black sweater Ryou could see thick muscles bunching in his biceps and strong forearms. They were talking as they came through the door and Ryou almost wondered if he could duck into his bedroom and wait for him the leave, or at least grab a shirt.

"Ryou, long time no see. Malik misses you," Marik commented. His words were innocuous enough, but the tone made them come out as a dull threat. Ryou nodded quietly and turned, fully intending on escaping still.

"Would you put on a kettle?" Bakura asked him in a reasonable tone, as if he didn't know where Ryou was headed. Ryou cursed inwardly.

"Sure, just let me grab a shirt," he said, taking another step toward the bedroom.

"You're fine as you are." Bakura breezed past him and threw himself into the armchair in the living room. Ryou considered pushing the matter, but decided it wasn't worth it. He just went into the kitchen and filled the electric kettle with water and flipped the switch. He could hear the other two speaking in the living room. Marik laughed at something Bakura had said and Ryou crossed his arms over his chest, butt resting against the counter. He pressed the pad of his thumb and index finger into his eyes, rubbing lightly.

He should have gone to bed hours ago. At least then he wouldn't have to deal with Bakura and his guest. He should have known that his dark counterpart going out would end badly for him. Things had been okay lately, and he should have known that it wouldn't last forever. The water clicked off and he glanced at it, not knowing what to do for a moment. He went to the doorway and leaned his head out.

"Did you want tea or coffee?" he asked. Being British he'd been automatically about to make a pot of tea, but he wasn't sure if the Egyptian would want tea or coffee or… whatever.

Two pairs of heads swiveled toward him at the same time, both with equally disturbing expressions. Both expressions of blackness. Ryou had no desire to know what they had been discussing before he'd interrupted them. He looked away quickly, resisting the urge to swallow hard.

"Tea's fine." He wasn't sure which one of them said it, he ducked back into the kitchen as soon as he had an answer. He made three mugs of black tea. He and Bakura liked a teaspoon of sugar and a splash of milk, so he made Marik's like that, unwilling to go back out ask how he wanted it. He carried two of mugs in one hand and the third in the other, watching the tan colored liquid slosh slightly as he walked. He made his way slowly out of the kitchen and into the living room, walking as smoothly as possible so as not to spill any of the tea.

As he stepped around the armchair and set down the first mug it was hard not to notice the two pairs of eyes that followed him as he moved around. They'd stopped talking when he walked in and just… watched. Like lions eyeing a gazelle. Ryou set the other mug down and was about to walk out of the room when Marik patted the seat of the couch next to him.

"Why don't you join us?" he offered in a tone that was meant to sound harmless. Ryou shook his head.

"No thank you. I'm sleepy, I'm gonna go to bed." Bakura made a noise and crossed his legs in a way that would have looked very feminine, but somehow didn't.

"Ryou, your tea has caffeine in it. You're won't fall asleep." Ryou frowned.

"I'll go dump it ou—"

"Just sit down."

"At least let me go put on a shirt."

"I said you were fine as you are." Ryou opened his mouth to argue some more when a shadow moved in the corner of his eye. His head whipped around to it even as he realized Bakura had summoned it to his mind. Ryou turned incredulous eyes back to the demon. He wouldn't. He wouldn't use that in front of… But one look at Bakura told him he would.

Suppressing a sigh he tucked himself into the very edge of the couch, as far away from Marik as he could possibly get, and pulled his knees up tight against his chest. He rested the mug on top of one knee, taking sips from it every so often, even though it was still too hot to drink. Maybe if he finished it quickly he would be allowed to go to bed.

"Ryou, why don't you come around to visit Malik anymore? He's mentioned you a few times," Marik's voice floated through the tense atmosphere and wrapped around Ryou's throat like a vice. He tried to shrug nonchalantly.

"School's been sort of hectic lately," he said vaguely. The real reason he hadn't gone over to Malik's place in months was because his body had split in two, like Ryou's own, and the man sitting next to him on the couch terrified him.

"That is a shame. But…isn't school out right now?" It was a question and it was unavoidable. Ryou nodded, taking another sip of his too-hot tea in a vain attempt to wet his suddenly dry mouth. "Why, that's perfect, isn't it Ryou?" He nodded again, mechanically, feeling his throat constrict and turn to sandpaper. With every word out of that man's mouth he could feel himself sinking farther and farther down, panic pushing against the edges of his mind like water filtering into a room. His heart was pounding so hard he wondered if the others couldn't hear it. Maybe that's what was spurring Marik on. "You could make use of your vacation and come spend the weekend—"

"No."

But the word hadn't come from Ryou's lips. Chocolate and violet eyes swiveled to stare at Bakura at the same time.

"Why the fuck not?" Marik's voice came out as little more than a growl with some consonants thrown in. Ryou shrank imperceptibly into the corner of the couch.

"If Malik wants to see Ryou he can come over here. I'm sure they'd both be glad of the company," he said in a quiet, polite tone. Something passed between the men that Ryou didn't understand, but Marik backed down.

"I guess it would be good for the brat to get out of the house." The moment passed and they changed the subject. They seemed to be talking about some job they were doing together, but Ryou tuned them out hard and early in the conversation. He had learned from repeated experiences that he had no desire to know what the two of them did. Quite a while passed and Ryou even went to make himself a new mug of tea before they decided it was time to break up the little party.

Ryou was leaning sleepily against the armrest when Marik grabbed his chin with two fingers and forced gaze up to him.

"I think we'll be seeing each other again soon, Ryou," Marik said in a tone that was far more threat than anything else. Ryou's brows knit together and he jerked his chin out of the dark man's hand. He was opening his mouth to say something biting when Bakura's voice cut through the room.

"I'll thank you not to touch my property." His posture was casual, leaning against the armrest of the chair he'd been lounging in, he was even inspecting his nails. But the tone he'd used was one that Ryou knew well not to argue with.

That palpable tension was filling the room again, buzzing in Ryou's ears and making him grip the handle of his teacup tight in his hand. Then Marik laughed, long and hard and fucking insane, hands going to his knees to keep upright. At length he stood upright, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes.

"Right, right, I forgot myself," He actually giggled and then walked to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Bakura," then he let himself out and walked into the night.

Ryou stood, collecting the mugs and taking them into the kitchen. He dumped out Marik's, it was still full of tea that had long since gone ice cold, and put them in the dishwasher. He turned and Bakura was standing behind him. Ryou jumped.

"Baku—!" His hand came up to his chest, feeling his heart pound against his palm. "Jesus, could you make a noise or something?"

"Ryou I want you to stay away from him," Bakura ordered, his voice very serious. Ryou nodded, trying to step around him. Bakura stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. "I'm serious, if he comes over without me don't let him in. If you see him on the street cross the fucking street and call me." Ryou shook the hand off his shoulder and tried to push past again. "Ryou!" There was another shift in the shadows in the corner of Ryou's eyes.

"I heard you the first time," he said in a voice he hoped sounded neutral as he stoically ignored the growing figure to his right.

"Then I expect an answer." Ryou shook his head hard and bodily pushed Bakura out of his way, stomping out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom.

"If he's so dangerous why do you hang out with him?" he shot over his shoulder as Bakura followed him down the short hallway to their shared bedroom. The apartment had two bedrooms, one for Ryou and one for his father. Bakura could have taken the spare, since his father had been gone for so long, but neither of them honestly saw the point in that. They'd been sharing a room and honestly, a bed, since Bakura had developed his own body years ago. And before that they'd been sharing a body so…

"Why I associate with him is none of your fucking business and you should keep it that way."

"Whatever," Ryou muttered, throwing himself into the bed. Bakura made a disdainful noise and sat in the desk chair and glared at the slight boy on the bed. The silence stretched for a few minutes.

"What is your problem lately?" Bakura demanded, teeth gritted together. Ryou rolled his eyes and flipped onto his back, staring at the ceiling rather than his counterpart.

"You are my problem. You've always been my problem." He threw his arm over his burning eyes, closing them against the demon in his room, the long night, the imminent threat of the Egyptian man and everything fucking else.

"I'm trying to help you, Ryou."

"I wouldn't need your help if you would just—"

"Do not finish that sentence." The words were hissed in his ear from mere inches away almost at the same time that Ryou felt the bed move with added weight. He'd pushed too far.

Slowly, Ryou took his arm off of his face, looking up at the furious face and almost red eyes. Bakura was hovering over him, propped up on his hands that were placed on either side of Ryou's head.

"You've forgotten your place, landlord," the demon hissed in a voice heavy with the promise of pain. In the edges of Ryou's vision shadows twisted and writhed, forming hands and claws and bugs and—! Ryou clamped his eyes shut, tears running down the sides of his face.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorr…" his throat closed up as terror filtered into his veins like ice water. There was another disgusted noise from above him and a tug at his hair as Bakura pushed himself up and away sharply.

"Whatever. Just go to sleep already."

Ryou opened his eyes a sliver, half expecting something, anything, to swarm over his body, but nothing came. His room was just his room, filled with the normal shadows to be expected for the late hour.

"It's been a long day for you…" Bakura muttered and the younger boy looked up at him in confusion. The taller man stood and pulled off his clothes before slipping into the bed next to his counterpart in nothing but a pair of black boxers. He turned over, scooting to the edge of the bed next to the wall before Bakura could change his mind and punish him further.

Ryou closed his eyes and hoped he wouldn't dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, honestly I run on props. Can I haz a review please? :) Also, if there's something you wanna see in this leave me a suggestion. It might make its way into the story :)


	3. Chapter 3

Ryou sat on the hardwood floor of his bedroom, legs crossed under him. He held a miniature roof in his hand, painting the details on the thatch work. It'd been a long time since he'd indulged in his hobby. The last time had been—. He put the paintbrush he'd been holding down, his hands going still as he stared at the little roof. He'd found the unpainted buildings in the back of his closet earlier today, and he'd sat down to paint them before he really thought about it. Ryou passed the tips of his fingers over the scar on the back of his hand, closing his eyes. He stood unsteadily, pushing to his feet in stages. His legs had fallen asleep long ago and as the blood rushed back in his toes tingled. He put the roof on the desk to dry and walked the dirtied brushes into the bathroom.

"Planning something?" Bakura asked with a pointed look at the brushes. He'd been lounging in the living room, looking at something on the laptop. Ryou's laptop.

"Not really. Just found it and thought I'd finish some pieces," Ryou answered, going into the bathroom and running water over the brushes. He used his thumb to gently coax the water from the bristles.

"Which set is it?" Bakura called from the living room.

"I think it was going to be my hometown in Cheshire. That's what most of the pieces look like anyway. I bought it so long ago that I don't really remember though."

"Back in England?"

"Yeah." Ryou laid the brushes out on a towel to dry and walked out of the bathroom stretching his arm over his head, listening to his joints pop. Vaguely he wondered how long he'd been sitting on his floor painting.

"Ryou, do you miss home?" The smaller boy froze for a second, glancing into the living room. Bakura's back was to him, all he could see was the mess of long white hair and the set of the boy's shoulders as he sat on the couch, fingers poised over the touchpad of the laptop.

"What?"

"Do you miss home? I mean…it would make sense if you did. It's been a long time since we've been home," Bakura said, turning to look over his shoulder at his twin. Ryou waited a few breaths for him to make a joke at his expense, to call him weak, something. But he didn't. He sat there waiting patiently for his response.

"I…" Ryou hadn't given it much thought honestly. He'd lived in England with his mother and his father and Amane. Now he lived here. With Bakura. Life had taken him from England and the familiar street and the smell of rain and dumped him in his father's homeland. With its different language and different customs. "Yeah. I miss it."

"Would you like to go back? We could. Fairly easily." Bakura turned back to the computer and Ryou thought he saw the demon pull up a travel site.

"No..." Amane's had been alive England. And his mother. And all the friends he'd made in school. None of them were anymore, and while he was in Japan some part of him could almost believe that none of them had died. That they were still over there leading their lives and that they missed him as much as he missed them. If he went back and wandered the streets of his hometown… it would mean finally accepting that they're gone, that they're never coming back and that he could never speak to any of them ever again.

"No," he said again, more firmly. "I don't want to go back to that place." Bakura stared at him for a second, mouth open as if he were about to say something else, then shrugged and seemed to let it go. Ryou walked into the kitchen, mostly looking for something to do. He opened the fridge and scanned the contents. "Are you hungry?" he asked the darkness in the next room.

"Not really. But you should eat." Ryou frowned at the fridge and slams the door shut. He grabbed the kettle instead and filled it with water.

"Want some tea?"

"Is that all you're going to make?"

"Unless you want something to eat."

"I told you I'm not hungry."

"Neither am I." There was silence from the next room. Ryou turned toward the doorway and Bakura was standing there, an odd expression on his face. It almost looked like…concern.

"You haven't eaten today." Ryou blinked, almost not following the conversation.

"So? Neither have you," he commented vaguely, setting out the sugar.

"Yes. I did. I ate breakfast while you were painting. And lunch too. You haven't eaten since yesterday," Bakura's voice was low, a deep gritty sound, as if he was taking great pains to keep himself from yelling. Ryou shrugged his shoulders and heard the kettle click over, telling him that the water was boiled. He pushed past the older man and opened a cupboard, pulling out a mug. He was in search of a teabag when Bakura spoke again. "Even when you do eat, it's just…bits. You never eat a whole meal, just enough to keep going." Ryou let out an exasperated noise, rolling his eyes.

"What do you care?" he muttered bitterly under his breath. But Bakura heard it anyway.

"Because I fucking do! Jesus Ryou, if you die it will cause problems for me!" he yelled, rounding on the smaller boy and backing him into the corner of the counters.

"And God forbid I make any problems for you! God forbid that you have to lie to father for once—!" Ryou's words were cut off by Bakura's hand tight and solid around his throat.

"Shut the fuck up! Shut your fucking—!" Bakura hissed, throwing him back against the counters. The air rushed out of him in a long breath, his lungs emptying into the space between them. The older man rounded on him before he could catch his breath, holding him up with a fistful of his shirt. Fear crossed his face as Ryou looked up, eyes wide and locked on the face of his attacker. He'd crossed a line and he wasn't sure what would happen next. He'd snapped, his feelings overtaking his more rational thinking.

"I d-didn't…" he started. Bakura shut him up by throwing him onto the floor at his feet. Suddenly there were screams echoing in his ears, loud and were screaming his name.

"Ryou! Ryou look!" his sister's voice echoed in his ears, high and excited. His head snapped up and glanced around the room, looking for the source before his more rational brain could tell him that it as another of Bakura's tricks.

"Ryou no! Stay away from the road!" his mother's voice this time, and with that he was plunged head first into the worst moment of his life. The room around him fell away until it was replaced with a wide asphalt road. His sister stood in front of him, hands stretching toward the road and whatever had caught her eye. Looking back he thought it might have been the picture of a cartoon cat on the billboard across the road. She ran before he could stop her. The squeal of tires cut through the air and a single horn, and it was over. Amane's body lay a scant few feet in front of him. Her body. Empty and oddly flat in the middle, torn through the stomach and leaking, leaking something all over the road and it's thick and red and meat and—! The vision changed, shifted to a bathroom. The tall bathtub in his house in England. He'd gotten up in the middle of the night, woken by the sound of running water. It was a few months after Amane's funeral. The single lily he'd taken from her coffin lid hung above his desk, drying out. It was a keepsake. Ryou took a few quavering steps toward his parent's room. That's where the rushing sound of water was coming from.

"Mommy?" he asked in a thick voice. The word felt foreign on his tongue, it'd been years since he'd called her that, but he could feel something had happened. The sound of water was louder here. He opened the door to his parents' bathroom. Water sloshed around his feet, a few centimeters of it lapping around his toes as if it made sense to be there. He looked up from his feet and into the bathtub. "Mommy?" he repeated, even though he knew, he knew at that point that—.

His mother was in the bathtub, eyes closed and a weird, slack expression on her face. The water in the tub was diluted by a lot, turned an incredibly light pink that got deeper as the tub got deeper. "Mo-Mommy?" he asked one more time, though even at the time he knew it was futile. He'd seen blood and death before now, he knew what it was, that his mother had…

His own kitchen floor swam back into his vision in drips and drabs. He slowly became aware of the fact that he was screaming, low ragged sounds pulling from deep in his chest. There were tears rolling down his cheeks freely and splattering messily onto his chest. He kept whimpering the same word over and over; "Mommy…mommy…mommy…" As soon as he was aware of it he stopped, clenching his jaw and rubbing roughly at the tears on his face. He looked up and a few feet away stood Bakura. The demon glared down at him, his face unreadable and his arms crossed sourly across his chest.

Ryou was curled up in a fetal position on the floor, his chest rising and falling at a frantic pace. His mouth tasted sour, as if he'd vomited. He pushed slowly till he was sitting upright, then pulled his knees close to his chest, letting his hair fall forward till it obscured the room. There was a noise not far from him, Bakura was coming closer. He threw an arm out, flattened palm extended to ward the demon off.

"Please!" his voice cracked on the word. "Please…don't." The footsteps stopped and he swallowed hard. Bakura let out a disgruntled noise.

"Ryou, would you please just fucking listen to me when I talk? Just do as I fucking say, would you?" Bakura said even as he stepped around the boy on the floor. A hand closed around the collar of his shirt and he was hoisted up. Ryou managed to nod, his gaze wide and haunted. He turned that expression away, looking anywhere but the crimson eyes that were so much like his own. Bakura growled under his breath in disgust and something else that Ryou couldn't identify. The demon shook the boy again, trying to get him to say something this time. He did, but Ryou wasn't seeing him. He was still seeing his mother's corpse, the blood she'd leaked into the bathtub from her shredded wrists, the second coffin in his young life. Bakura threw him to the floor, though with less force than before.

Ryou lay on the ground, lacking the will to get up quite yet. That's where the demon left him, crying quietly on the floor as Bakura left the apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's a little shorter than the last, but this seemed like a good place to stop and honestly I wrote this while drunk, so please be kind! Lol, anyway, reviews are much appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

Ryou padded around his empty apartment for the third time in as many hours. His classmates wouldn't understand, but he really couldn't stand vacation. He didn't have anything to do and his only regular human interaction was…

Ryou sighed heavily and wandered out of his kitchen. He ended up in his bedroom in front of his over stuffed closet. He'd been vaguely meaning to clear out the more disused clothes for months now. Domino High had a uniform, so he found he needed fewer clothes. Might as well go through it today.

He started pulling shirts down one by one and tossing them into a pile behind him. He paused with a good-sized swath of floor covered; he turned from the room and headed for the kitchen. The apartment was deadly quiet, and the only noise as he moved through it was the floorboards squeaking under his footsteps. He stooped to open the cabinet under the sink and grab a trash bag out of it. Ryou went back to his bedroom, passing the perpetually closed door to his father's bedroom, and started scooping clothes into the bag. He tied it off and stood smiling softly and feeling accomplished, when his eyes fell on a box pushed to the back of his closet and previously obscured by clothing. He blinked.

Ryou pulled the box into his lap and used the edge of his nail to pry up the tape. He yanked straight up and it came off the cardboard with a tick, almost wet ripping sound. Inside the box was a thick book with 'Upton Priory' embossed in gold on a burgundy cover. Under that was some picture frames, all facing down. A small stuffed cat lay in the corner of the box. It had been Amane's. Ryou's eyes slid away from the toy and back to his old yearbook. He picked it up delicately, as if his hands didn't know what to do with a book. He let it fall open to a random page.

After School Activities; the top of the page proclaimed, pictures of all the clubs lined up under it. Football, linguistics, drama… he smiled faintly, recognizing a few faces. He'd been 11 when he left that school; he wondered how much the others had grown up over the past 5 years. Ryou turned the page and found his own face looking back up at him. The chess club. His white hair was a tousled mess, bright against the vest of his school uniform and curled chaotically, showing he'd let it air dry that day rather than taking a blow dryer to it like he did now.

The Ryou in the picture, along with the other members of the small club sat on two rows of bleachers, facing the camera and smiling politely. To Ryou's left sat another 11-year-old boy, with light brown hair. His best friend, Brenden.

Ryou went very still. The last time he'd seen Brenden was in a hospital. His friend wasn't moving, and his mother wouldn't stop crying, and needles in his arms, and—!

Ryou closed the book and put it back in its box. He sat frozen on the ground for a few moments, unsure of what to do. His ears were ringing with a rushing sound, as if there were great waves crashing over him again and again. He had no way of knowing how long he sat there, listening to the waves inside his head, but at length a sound cut through his thoughts. The doorbell.

He sat blinking for a moment, unsure of how to respond, then it rang again. He closed the book and pushed it haphazardly with his foot toward the closet and hurried into the hallway toward the front door. The bell rang for a third time and he lengthened his stride, then it rang again.

"Hold on, hold on, I'm coming," he called out. It was only when his hand was on the doorknob that the idea to check the peephole even entered his mind, but he'd already turned the lock and started opening the door.

It swung open and he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, maybe the old woman who lived two doors down and brought over cookies on the holidays, or the missionaries who'd stopped by a month ago, whoever he'd been expecting it wasn't the Egyptian man in front of him. Ryou's mouth went dry and he backpedaled a step without realizing it. A wild urge to slam the door shut rushed through him. To just close the door and lock it tight, and never have those violet colored eyes focus on him again. It'd been a week since he'd seen Marik last, and Bakura's warning buzzed in his head.

Before Ryou could stop him, Marik stepped through the door, a small amused smile on his face. He toed off his shoes as Ryou unfroze enough to step up out of the tiled entry way and back onto his hardwood floors. He had to swallow twice before he could speak.

"Bakura isn't here, " he said quietly, but his voice was steady. Marik lined his shoes up in a right angle with the tiles and slipped his bare feet into the set of guest slippers before closing the door behind him. Ryou watched with a sort of detached fascination as Marik followed the custom from neither of their cultures. Ryou's own house slippers still sat near the door. He preferred just his socks in the house. Marik stepped past him casually, heading for the living room. "B-Bakura isn't here!" he tried again, voice louder this time.

"I know. I'll just wait for him till he comes back," Marik said simply as he lowered himself onto the couch. And he sat there as if he belonged there, all wild hair and thick muscles and those ridiculous fucking slippers.

"I uh…" Ryou crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Do…you want something to drink?" he asked, fidgeting as Marik's smile became even more amused.

"A cup of your English tea would be lovely," said Marik. Ryou blinked. Was he being made fun of? Part of him didn't care, would take any chance to get the hell out of here that he could, but another part of him wanted to know how this mand had the never to force his way into Ryou's home and then to mock him in it. Ryou spun on his heel and went to the kitchen before he said something stupid. He filled the electric kettle and turned it on before pulling his phone out of his pocket and tapping out a message to Bakura.

Marik is here. He says he's waiting for you. Then he slipped the phone back into his pocket. The boy pulled a pair of mugs from the cupboard. He was dropping a tea bag in each when his phone chimed at him.

Where is he now?

The living room. Ryou glanced toward the doorway, but couldn't see the couch from his spot by the counter. He hoped Marik hadn't moved. His phone dinged in his hand almost immediately.

U let him in? Ryou frowned at the screen.

He just came in. I couldn't stop him.

Omw

Ryou slipped the phone in his pocket again just as the kettle clicked off. He poured out the tea and added milk and sugar before bringing it out to Marik. But the couch was empty. Ryou licked his lips nervously and glanced around the room. For one heady moment he thought Marik had gone home, that he'd gotten tired of waiting for Bakura and just gone the fuck home. But no, his boots were still in the doorway, and the guest slippers were missing. With a soft sigh he placed one mug down on a coaster next to the couch, and took the other mug with him in search of the older man. It didn't take long. Marik was in his bedroom, thumbing through one of his notebooks he'd left on the desk. Ryou's gaze slid to the box still sticking halfway out of the closet. It looked undisturbed.

"The tea's ready," he said, holding one mug toward Marik. "Bakura said he'd be here soon. You can wait in the living room." Marik steadfastly ignored this. Instead he brandished the notebook at him.

"What is all of this?" he asked imperiously. Ryou glanced at the page covered in his own neat script, then at Marik's face.

"It's my maths notebook. Would you put it down please?" Ryou's voice came out like ice, stinging and frigid. That mocking smile passed over Marik's face again, but he sat the book down where he'd found it.

"Malik has one just like it. Are you in the same class?" he asked, wandering over to Ryou's bookshelf and inspecting the spines.

"No. Malik has maths in third period and I have it in first. It's the same teacher though."

"Period?"

"The school day is split up into 5 periods, a different class for each period. Don't you remember from when…" He was unable to finish the thought, but Marik understood him just fine.

"I had no interest in school. I let Malik deal with that."

Ryou blinked. He didn't imagine Bakura had much interest in school either, and yet he'd be locked away in his soul room for days on end. He looked up to see Marik closing in on the closet, violet eyes locked on the box. Ryou cut him off, stepping in front of it and pushing the mug of tea into Marik's hand.

"Bakura said he'd be here soon…" Ryou repeated. Bronze fingers wrapped around the mug and the older man even took a step back. He went to lean his butt on the edge of Ryou's desk, then blew on the tea before taking a sip. His blonde eyebrows went up a little.

"This is good," he murmured, taking another small sip. Ryou made a face, remembering the untouched mug from the previous week.

"Why did you ask for it if you didn't know what it tasted like?"

"It's rude to refuse others' hospitality," Marik answered as if that made any sense at all. Ryou shook his head faintly and motioned toward the door.

"We can wait for him in the living room," he said for the umpteenth time. Marik didn't move an inch. He stood by the desk, that fucking smile still on his face, and set his mug down. Suddenly he was just there, right in front of Ryou before he'd really realized that he'd moved. He pushed the smaller boy against the wall, his head bouncing against it and with a dull thwap. Ryou's arms were above his head, both wrists caught by Marik's larger hand and pinned down while his other hand came up to catch Ryou's chin between his thumb and forefinger. The younger boy found himself looking up into Marik's eyes from only inches away, breath hot on his forehead. His mouth had gone cotton dry, as if all the moisture had been sucked out in the space of seconds; and his body went very still, waiting for the larger man's next move.

There was nothing he could do. He couldn't physically dominate the other man and force him to move away, to let go. No, he was too frail for that, body still developing and muscles yet to form. Ryou barely ate enough to keep a thin layer of fat, never mind build muscle. He could scream, but who would bother coming? How much of a ruckus could he cause before the Egyptian man stopped him? Definitely not enough. Not enough to rouse disinterested neighbors from their days off, from their tv shows and their dinners and their mundane lives to come save a stranger. Terror built up slowly inside him, and he realized it was different from the kind that Bakura instilled in him. This brand of fear didn't tear at his heart with talons, didn't sink into his very soul and rip up what was left of it. If Marik hurt him, it would just be his body, just the vessel that he lived in, and not Ryou himself. But the fear was still there and very, very real.

He let his gaze drop away from those strange violet eyes, down to the broad chest in front of him; but Marik's fingers tightened till a noise escaped his lips and he looked back up. The expression on the darker man's face was unreadable. Nothing that he could put words to. It didn't go with the situation. He'd expected violence or something malevolent, but not the neutral, bordering on soft look he got. Ryou didn't know what to do with a look like that. He let his gaze slide away again.

"Bakura—"

"I know, I know, he'll be back soon. You've said it already," Marik said, dropping his chin and wrists at the same time and taking a step back to study him. The strange expression was gone, replaced by that mocking little smirk. Ryou crossed his arms again and turned his head away.

"Please get out of my room," he said in a firm voice. Marik stared at him for a second then let out one of those wild, manic laughs, throwing his head back. Even when he ran out of air he kept giggling in little bursts.

"If that's what you really want, Ryou." And he left the bedroom with the white haired boy close behind. From the hallway they could both see that Bakura was home. He stood in the entryway kicking off his shoes as he closed the door behind him, then strode into the room quickly, eyes locked on Marik. "Ah! The elder Bakura is home. Just who I wanted to see."

Bakura stopped inches from Marik, his eyes dark and holding that sheen of red they sometimes got when he was really angry. Ryou took a few careful steps away from the scene and into the relative safety of the living room. He curled himself on the couch next to his mug of tea and picked it up. It was still warm. Ryou wondered where Bakura had been to get home so fast.

"I told you not to come here without me, Marik," Bakura said in a low voice. Marik laughed, and it wasn't as threatening this time. The tanned man came into the living room and dropped onto the couch next to Ryou. The smaller boy frowned. He knew he should have sat in the armchair, but that was usually Bakura's spot…

"Did you? I have such a terrible memory for these things," Marik said easily. He lounged back in the couch, throwing his arms over the top of it. Ryou curled a little into himself, trying to get the heat of the other man's body off his neck. He considered walking out of the room to make a quick escape for his bedroom, but decided he didn't want to draw any attention to himself by moving too much. Instead he drew his legs up to his chest and sipped his tea.

"I did. I very specifically told you not to come here unless you were with me," Bakura spat, tone dark and tight. No, Ryou definitely did not want to draw anyone's attention right now.

"But why not, Bakura? Ryou and I have been having a very pleasant conversation," Marik said sweetly. Ryou busied himself with a long gulp of tea, when he chanced a glance at Bakura he looked outwardly calm, but Ryou recognized the angry set of his shoulders, the way tension sang down his forearms.

"And if I started going to Malik for…pleasant conversations?" The threat hung in the air for a few seconds, and Ryou glanced sidelong at Marik to gage his reaction. He'd expected rage, maybe even a punching match between the two men, but Marik's face had split into a wide grin.

"Are you offering me a trade, Bakura?" his tone was…hungry. Marik's arm dropped from the back of the couch heavily onto Ryou's shoulders, then he tugged the smaller boy close to his torso. "Just for a little while of course. Just to see." Ryou's throat closed up in terror, tension filling his body like water and that buzzing coming back into his ears. His grip on the mug tightened until his knuckles went stark white and his eyes locked on the floor in front of him. He pushed back suddenly at the hand over his shoulders, shoving the arm off of him and away.

"Don't touch me," Ryou said in a tight voice, each word said very precise and clear, "Don't ever touch me again." Then he left the room, with the sound of Marik's laughter ringing in his ears.

Ryou had shut himself in his room about 15 minutes ago. Voices wafted in from under the door, though he couldn't make out what they were saying, and didn't try to. He just sat on his bed and stared at the book in his lap, too distracted to actually read anything. The door swung open and Ryou looked up to see Bakura with his hand on the knob.

"Did Marik leave?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Good." Ryou turned his attention back to the book, hoping Bakura to just leave it at that.

"I told you to stay away from him." Ryou sighed and tossed his book to the foot of the bed.

"I did stay away from him. He came here," Ryou said, pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"And I told you not to let him in if I wasn't here!" Bakura snarled, closing in on the bed. Ryou pushed up from it before he could get there and put the book away to disguise the movement. Truthfully he just didn't want to be near Bakura when he was this mad.

"I didn't mean to. He forced his way in before I could stop him." With the book put away he didn't have anything for his hands to do. He glanced around the room apprehensively and moved over to the desk, straightening some papers.

"And what the fuck did he mean by 'pleasant conversation'?" Bakura demanded, closing in on the smaller boy again.

"I don't know. I think he just said it to make you angry," Ryou answered honestly. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms and sat heavily back down on the edge of the bed.

"So you just sat here in silence until I came back? And what the fuck was he doing coming out of the bedroom?" Bakura pressed. Ryou flopped down on his back and glared at the ceiling.

"Before I sent you the text I asked if he wanted something to drink. I went and made some tea so I could text you without him seeing, when I came out of the kitchen and he'd gone into the bedroom and was looking around," Ryou recounted, digging his fingers into his hair.

"Looking around? What was he looking at?"

"My notebooks. He asked if Malik and I had the same classes. Honestly Bakura I don't think he was doing anything but passing time. Maybe trying for some weird power play between the two of you, I don't know," Ryou closed his eyes in exasperation and rolled onto his side, turning his back on Bakura. "I don't get any of this stuff…"

"Did he touch you?" Ryou's blood ran cold at the question. He sat frozen on the bed. Somehow he knew that telling Bakura the truth would set off his doppelganger's rage, but lying seemed like a bad idea too.

"On the couch…" he said quietly, sliding off the other edge of the bed, the one farthest from Bakura. He passed through the bedroom door and into the short hallway. He stepped into the bathroom and hit the hot water to start filling the tub. When he turned he found Bakura had followed him.

"Before. Did he touch you, before the couch?" Bakura demanded in his own exasperated tone.

Ryou licked his lips and picked up a hairbrush, running it through the already smooth strands of hair.

"Sort of."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"Bakura, could we just not talk about this anymore? It's been a long day and I just don't…" Bakura had rounded on him, pushing him back toward the rapidly filling bathtub.

"Did he. Fucking. Touch you?" he growled, eyes narrowed into slits by his rage and his words coming out in a short, clipped staccato. Ryou nodded mutely, mouth going dry for the second time that day. "Where?"

"I-In the bedroom. He pinned my wrists to the wall…and grabbed my chin…like the other night," his voice squeezed out around the fear. The demon in front of him scowled deeper, eyes flashing red, but then he stood up and even took a step back from Ryou.

"See little Ryou, isn't it better when you just answer my questions?" he asked, voice back to normal. Ryou managed to nod once, and then hands were dragging him backward and down into the scalding water in the tub. His eyes went wide and he opened his mouth to scream but a hand clamped down over his mouth.

He ended up fully clothed and plunged in searing water up to his neck and covering his upper thighs with his feet dangling uselessly over the side of the tub. Something was holding him down, one arm across his shoulders, pinning him to its chest and one hand pressed firmly over his mouth. He thrashed and water sloshed violently as his heart hammered in his ears. Ryou's own hands came up to pull the arm off, but when he dug nails into the flesh it ripped away in long, slime covered strips. His stomach lurched. The hand over his mouth was rotting too, skin taught over the bloated flesh underneath, fingers like fluid filled sacks pressing against his lips. He screamed into the hand and tears washed down his cheeks.

"You let her die," said his mother's voice, sounding thick and wet. Ryou went deathly still, a tingling spread through his body first, and then a wave of overwhelming horror after it. He turned enough to look at the thing out of the corner of his eye.

His mother's water-bloated corpse was holding him against her ruined chest in the tub. A ragged shriek left his throat, only to be muffled by the rotting hand pressed to his mouth. He thrashed and struggled against it again, desperate to get away, get far, far away from her. But she was strong, and the only thing his thrashing managed to do was open the deep wounds in her wrists. He was covered in black, coagulated blood in seconds. Where the water of the tub touched it it became a bright, cherry red. Bright as the day he'd seen it spilled from her wrists.

"You let Amane die. You couldn't save her. Why didn't you stop her Ryou? Why didn't you grab her and throw her out of the road? You were her big brother. You were supposed to protect her and you failed," his mother's voice filled his ears and sobs wracked his chest.

She was breaking apart in the water, great swaths of her skin sloughing off into the water till the surface was covered in a black, oily film that sank into his clothes and hair. He shrieked into her palm and struggled weakly as she whispered in his ear. When he finally clawed the hand away it broke off with a brittle sound and plopped into the water. His stomach lurched at the sight of the bleeding stump and the floating hand. It sank slowly, wrist slipping under the water first before the fingers disappeared too. He felt his head spin. Ryou managed to force his eyes to focus on something other than the decay that covered him, that was inking sinking into his pores. He found Bakura, watching him from the door, arms crossed over his chest and leaning his weight onto one hip against the door frame.

"Please! God please Bakura! N-no more!" he managed before the other hand clapped over his mouth with a wet slap. Green pus ran down his chin to splatter messily into the water and he felt his stomach heave again.

"Will you listen to me the next time I ask a question? Will you just give me an answer the first time I ask you?" Bakura inquired in an almost bored tone. His eyes never left the struggling boy in the filthy water. Ryou nodded hard, over and over as tears rolled down his face freely. He kept pulling weakly at the arms binding him, but he couldn't break free. He was covered from his head all the way to his knees in blood and thicker things, flesh and pus and big wet chunks of black stuff he had no desire to identify. He managed to choke out the word 'please' one more time, but it came out faint and hoarse.

As suddenly as the thing had appeared it was suddenly gone and he could finally lurch out of the water. Ryou's hand slipped on the edge of the tub and he landed heavily on the point of his elbow, the impact running all the way up to his fingertips. He scrambled again and just barely got his head over the toilet before he threw up violently. His stomach emptied itself in a matter of seconds and he was left dry heaving and trembling as he clutched the bowl. He refused to open his eyes, too terrified of what might be there when he did. He heard Bakura sigh, then felt a hand in his hair. He froze, expecting the skin to start to drip, to slide down the back of his neck and—. He was sick into the toilet again. Bakura crouched beside him, sitting back on his haunches.

"You'll be good from now on, won't you Ryou?" he asked softly. Ryou could do nothing but nod, and slowly start to cry again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review? So I'm kind of wondering if I made this chapter too dark? Is this a direction people don't like? Also, suggestions! I like them!


	5. Chapter 5

Ryou had been laying in bed staring at the wall for the last hour. His sleep shirt had ridden up to his chest, exposing a long line of bare skin. He was chilled and he’d been meaning to pull the blankets up, or his shirt down, do something to warm himself; but every time he moved to do something he couldn’t muster the energy. He was stuck in stasis, unable to will himself to move. Ryou blinked at the wall absently and curled his fingers against his pillow. He could feel the muscles under his skin, stiff and bunched from being too cold for too long, knew that they were forming tight knots that would need to be laboriously worked out, and still he couldn’t bring himself to move, to just reach down those couple of inches and pull up the blankets. 

Rustling noises came from the hallway, the bedroom door opened. He knew he should turn, talk to the other man, but he still couldn’t turn away. Bakura sat on the bed next to him, his weight causing the mattress to dip down. There was silence for a few seconds, then Bakura shook his shoulder gently. Ryou slowly flipped onto his back, frozen skin meeting equally chilled sheets, but slowly starting to warm up.

“How long are you going to sleep?” Bakura asked, looking down at him. Ryou shrugged and turned his eyes away, gaze fixed on a corner of the ceiling. 

“Does it matter?” This vacation felt never ending and not in the least relaxing. 

“Your phone’s been going off all morning.” Ryou shrugged again, but since Bakura hadn’t asked a question he didn’t bother to verbally respond. The phone in question is dropped onto his chest with a dull thud. He picks it up and clicks the screen on. Out of habit more than any desire to know what it said. His notification page was empty, but when he opened the home screen he’d missed several calls and there were a number of texts he didn’t recognize. Bakura must have read them first. He glanced up at his doppelganger. Bakura just watched him, one leg tucked under him and the other slung over the edge of the bed. Ryou turned his attention back to the phone.

There was one call from Yugi, from yesterday, and then three from Malik all in the last two hours. He flipped over to the texts. Yugi had invited him to the mall with the others. He’d have to respond to that, but later. He’d missed it anyway. 

The previous day had been spent scrubbing down every inch of the bathroom with a mixture that was far more bleach than water. Ryou knew everything he’d seen had been an illusion, the bathwater was even crystal clear when he went to drain it. Yet he couldn’t stomach the idea of being in the room until he’d scoured every inch of it, as if he could scrub the memories from the very tiles.

The next texts were from Malik, sent yesterday.

Hey

Ryou.

Ryyyyoooou

Answer the fucking phone!

And then from that day:

Ryou??

Ryou are you okay? Yugi says he can’t get ahold of you either.

Bakura you white haired git make him respond to these!!

Ryou raised an eyebrow at said white-haired git. He knew Bakura and Malkik had had some sort of relationship, but he was never sure what exactly that entailed. Sometimes he got the feeling he didn’t want to know. 

The phone buzzed in his hands as another text came through.

Bakura you fucker. Fine. I’ll come over myself and see him.

Ryou barely got a chance to read the message before the phone was snatched from his hands and Bakura started typing something quickly. He let out a growl and stoped typing without sending anything, opting to call Malik instead.

“You don’t need to come over,” Bakura spat as soon as the call was answered. Ryou heard the faint sound of Malik speaking on the other end.

“He’s fine, he’s just been in bed all day,” another response. “No he’s not sick!” Bakura almost sounded insulted. Suddenly the phone was flung at Ryou. He barely managed to catch it, cradling his hands against his chest. 

“Tell that ornery fucker that you’re fine,” Ryou glanced up at Bakura, confused. The older male always acted oddly around Malik, but a few months ago they’d had a fight, or so Ryou suspected. Malik stopped coming around after that, and Marik had arrived. 

“Hello?” Ryou asked, sitting up in the bed and pulling his shirt down over his bare stomach. Bakura crossed his arms and stood watching him.

“Ryou? Are you okay?” Malik sounded worried and suddenly he felt bad for never bothering to return his calls. He’d never understood Malik’s actions toward him. They’d spent a little time together whenever Bakura’s control over him lapsed, and then more in school after…

“I’m fine. Sorry I didn’t text you back. I’ve been asleep most of today.”

“It’s 5:30…Are you sick?” Ryou blinked in surprise. He knew it was late, but hadn’t realized just how late. How long had he been staring at the wall?

“No, I’m not sick…” he said quietly, eyes flicking up to the man watching him. “I’m really fine.”

“Well I’m still coming over. I’m stopping somewhere first, but I’ll be there in about half an hour.” Then he hung up. Ryou glanced down at the phone, but it had gone back to the home screen already. He looked up at Bakura. 

“He said he’d be here in half an hour,” he reported, slipping out of the bed on the side farthest from the other boy. Ryou walked around the bed and toward the bathroom.

“Did he say what he wants?” Bakura asked following him from the room.

“No.” Ryou glanced into the living room and found it bathed in early evening light. The bathroom still smelled faintly of bleach even though he’d rinsed everything down twice. He opened the small window above the shower. Bakura took up his usual place leaned against the bathroom door. Ryou did his best to ignore him as he stripped down.

“Have you spoken much to him at school?” Bakura asked, looking at himself in the mirror and taking a brush to his unruly hair. Ryou tested the water with his hand, adjusted it a little then stepped in. 

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t have the same classes anymore,” Ryou answered simply, scrubbing shampoo through his roots. A thickly floral scent hit his nose and he paused. He looked at  
the shampoo bottle and noticed the usually clear label was tinted purple. It was lavender scented, he hadn’t noticed when he’d bought it.

“What’s that smell?” Bakura asked, glancing over.

“Lavender. It’s the shampoo,” Ryou answered, ducking his head under the water stream and sending a torrent of suds down his shoulders.

“You don’t usually get scented shampoo.”

“It was a mistake.” There was silence for a moment.

“Are you okay Ryou?” Bakura’s voice came through the curtain, tone soft. Ryou blinked, not following the conversation for a moment. He turned to look at the translucent shower curtain. He could see Bakura’s shadow, cast by the light from the hallway, and more faintly Bakura’s form through the plastic, though it was mostly the impression of colors.

“Yeah,” Ryou you picked up a bottle of shower gel. “Yeah, I’m fine.” The curtain jerked to one side, letting out a flood of captured steam and slapping his wet skin with cool air. “Jesus Bakura!” he started, one hand going down automatically to cover himself.

“You aren’t fine, Ryou. You haven’t been fine for fucking months,” Bakura spat at him, brows knit together tightly. Ryou tried to close the curtain, but Bakura’s fingers wrapped around his wrist like a vice. Ryou winced in pain and tried to take his hand back. “You sleep all the fucking time, you don’t eat, you’re always spacing out and forgetting things. You never used to be like this,” Bakura continued, his grip tightening with every sentence. Ryou twisted his wrist around in a circle, breaking Bakura’s grip with the aid of the water.

“Bakura, I’m trying to shower,” he said firmly. He took a step back under the water again. 

“I don’t give a fuck if you’re in the shower!” Shadows in the room lurched as if they were filled with water. Ryou took an involuntary step back as if he’d been burned. His back hit the slick tile of the wall and for a scant second he thought it was his mother’s hands, covered in slime and blood and—. He let out a scream; one short, shrill sound before clapping a hand over his own mouth. His stomach clenched up tight, sending a shoot of bile up his throat. Wide eyes locked with the demons, tears forming and rolling down his cheeks to merge with the shower water and he felt panic start to creep over his chest, constricting his lungs and making his mind start to blur around the edges. He couldn’t get enough air and his stomach kept flipping over and over. He needed to look around the bathroom, see if she was here, where her hands were coming from, where he would be grabbed, try to runtrytogetawaystopstopstop—.

The doorbell rang, cutting through the steam filled air like something solid and heavy. The boys looked at each other for a second before Bakura turned on his heel and left the room. Ryou collapsed almost as soon as he was gone, hands bracing on his knees to keep himself standing. He took a few heated breaths, trying to clear his head enough to think. He opened his eyes and the bathroom was exactly what it was supposed to be, white tiles and too much steam. Still, he had a feeling he’d have to clean this room again. He stood slowly, stepping under the water and tipping back his head, mouth open to catch it in his mouth. He rinsed his mouth out and spat before getting out.

With a towel wrapped tightly around his waist he left the bathroom. Malik and Bakura stood in the entryway, the Egyptian boy holding a number of plastic bags. They looked as if they’d been having a quiet, heated argument, but they stopped speaking as soon as they spotted the second albino boy. Ryou saw Malik put on a fake smile.

“Hey Ryou. How are you feeling?” he asked softly, like he was a little kid who’d caught mommy and daddy fighting. Ryou shifted on his feet.

“I’m really am fine you didn’t have to come,” he said, one hand clasped to the towel around his waist. “I’m just gonna go get dressed…” He half expected Bakura to tell him he was ‘fine as he was’. He didn’t.

Ryou retreated to his room, leaning against the door for a second and let out a long sigh. He pulled on a long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans before leaving the relative safety of the empty room. 

Bakura had sprawled himself out on the armchair and was angrily flipping through channels on the TV. Ryou glanced around for Malik but couldn’t find him, then he heard banging from the kitchen. He started past Bakura, but the older boy stopped him.

“Bring me a cup of tea,” he ordered. Ryou nodded, continuing to the kitchen. “Please.” Ryou hesitated at the word, glancing back to the living room, but he could only see the back of Bakura’s head. Ryou ran a rough hand through his damp hair. Sometimes his life was too difficult to decipher. 

Malik was bustling around the kitchen chopping vegetables and pulling spices out from the closet, though most of the spices came from the plastic bags littered around his feet. He turned when Ryou came in, a bright smile on his tanned face.

“Hey! Long time no see huh?” he said cheerily while walking past his friend to grab a pot from a cupboard. 

“Yeah. I guess it has been a while,” he agreed, watching Malik throw a hearty pad of butter into the pot, followed by an amalgam of veggies. Ryou flicked the electric kettle on and leaned against the counter. “What’s with all this?” he asked gesturing at the food. Malik turned to look at him, one hand stirring at the pot.

“Honestly? Anzu saw you in the hallway the other day and texted me. She said you look like crap,” he said, dropping a handful of garlic into the pot. Malik had always been a little blunt. 

“She didn’t say that.”

“Not exactly. But she did say you looked pale… Well… ‘er than normal,” Malik said with a snort. Ryou couldn’t help but smile.

“So you’re the one saying I look like crap?” Ryou teased. Malik didn’t seem to pick up on his stone, or maybe he was distracted by the cooking.

“Well a little. When was the last time you slept?” he asked. Ryou shrugged, opening a cabinet and dropping a tea bag in a mug. The water clicked over. Ryou poured it over the bag slowly, watching the water stain brown.

“What are you making?” he asked, changing the subject as Marik arranged triangles on a cookie sheet and shoved it in the oven.

“Red lentil soup and pita bread. Don’t tell Bakura it’s the frozen kind, he can’t tell the difference but he’ll insist he can and he’ll be a huge baby about it,” Malik warned, grinning with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. Ryou smiled back and finished fixing the tea. He paused halfway to the door, watching Malik fish the seldom used blender from a top cabinet.

“Hey Malik?”

“Yeah?”

“…How do you know where everything is in here?” Ryou asked, voice gone soft and eyes locked on the steam rising from the mug in his hands. Malik let out another little laugh behind him.

“What are you talking about Ryou? I’ve cooked over here tons of times. You remember—” there was a sudden pause, perhaps where Malik’s brain caught up with his mouth.

“No…I don’t,” Ryou murmured. Silence settled into the room like a thick gas. He left to bring Bakura his tea, wondering if he’d just lost weeks, or even months to the demon.

When he came back Malik was adding water to the pot and the air smelled of spice. Ryou sneezed. Malik seemed determined to change the atmosphere from before. He chattered about whatever crossed his mind, school, homework, school gossip, movies.

“We should go see something before the break ends,” he offered. Ryou found himself nodding. 

“Yeah…I really want to see that uh… it’s uh…” he snapped his fingers as if that would call the name to his mind. “You know, the trailer where the couple moves in with the old lady and she’s got all those baby dolls and cribs?” Malik’s blond eyebrows shot up. 

“That horror movie?” he asked, tone incredulous. “That thing looks terrifying.” Ryou laughed and shrugged.

“Not really. Paranormal Activity was terrifying. That one looks pretty tame. Your typical jump scare horror flick.” Malik shook his head, dumping thick soup into the blender.

“I never took you for a horror fanatic,” he commented. “But sure, we can go see that. As long as we see it before the sun goes down.” Ryou laughed at him, but agreed. Malik pureed the soup and poured out three bowls, adding a thick dollop of yogurt to the center of each orange, steaming portion.

“Tell ‘Kura dinner is ready,” he said, pulling the cookie sheet from the oven. It took Ryou a few seconds to realize he meant Bakura. The nickname just didn’t fit the image Ryou had in his head, couldn’t coexist with the time lapses, and the shadows and his mother’s hand disappearing into the water and—. He had to take a number of deep breaths. Malik didn’t seem to notice.

Ryou stepped out into the living room. Bakura was still in the arm chair. If it had been anyone else he would have said the boy was pouting.

“Um. Dinner is ready,” he said. Bakura crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’m not hungry,” he said petulantly. He’d never seen this side of Bakura. Angry, vengeful, domineering, yes, but never sulking. He looked much younger, curled up in the armchair refusing dinner.

“Fuck off Bakura, come eat dinner with us!” Malik yelled from the other room. Bakura shot up from his seat fast enough to startle his younger twin. Ryou backpedaled a step as Bakura charged past him into the kitchen. 

“Why don’ you say that to my face rather than hiding the next room!” he bellowed. Ryou smiled in spite of himself, following after the taller boy. The lively atmosphere was a welcome change of pace. He hadn’t realized how grey the apartment had seemed.

Their little kitchenette table was laden with dishes it hadn’t seen in ages. Three bowls of the thick, fragrant soup plus the pot in the middle for seconds; another bowl full of yogurt and yet another with lemon wedges orbiting around a plate piled high with steaming pieces of pita. Ryou’s stomach let out a very audible growl, raising a blush to his cheeks. Malik laughed at him and Bakura gave him a little push toward the table before throwing himself into a chair.

They sat around the table chatting and passing bowls around, dipping pieces of pita into the soup. Ryou took Malik’s lead, squeezing a few lemon wedges over the surface of the soup and mixing it in, though Malik used more of the little wedges than he did. The flavors wove together beautifully, the heat of the soup cut by the yogurt and the flavors of the spices and veggies accented by the lemon juice. Ryou finished a third of his bowl quickly, content to listen to the others bicker while he ate. At length he had to come up for air, and to give the tight, thick feeling in his stretched stomach time to relax. 

“This is really good, Malik,” he commented, taking a swig of water. 

“Thanks. My brother always made it for me when I was sick. He said the spices clear your sinuses,” Malik said around a mouthful of pita. Bakura blew his nose loudly as if to drive the point home. “Ew! Jesus Bakura! Do that in the bathroom or something!” Malik berated, his nose wrinkled up in disgust. Ryou let out a little giggle, then another, and another until he was laughing so hard tears were pricking at his eyes. Malik grinned at his friend and started laughing too, even Bakura was smiling. He might have joined in if the doorbell hadn’t rang. Ryou turned in this seat, still giggling sporadically though Malik and Bakura had gone very still. Ryou stood to go answer the door when the bell rang again. Oh. That’s why the others were so tense.

“I’ll get it,” Bakura said, pushing to his feet and striding from the room. Ryou had enough time to look over at Malik. His violet eyes had clouded over, as if something had leached all the color from them and turned them hard, cold. He sat a little straighter in his chair, food forgotten in from of him.

“There you are, omocha,” Marik’s voice growled behind him. Malik’s eyes flashed at the nickname. Ryou turned, feeling surprisingly calm. At least until he saw the Egyptian’s face. Marik’s face held a sort of easy violence, it reminded Ryou of martial arts masters. The way they stood before the match started, all relaxed and casual, comfortable with the knowledge that they could break bones with only a hit. He watched violet eyes sweep over the table. “This looks delicious.” He took a step closer to the table. 

Ryou pulled his arms into his lap, shoulders hunching forward subconsciously, making himself smaller. Beside him Malik’s hands stayed on the table, spoon held lightly between his index, middle finger, and thumb. Bakura reappeared in the little kitchen and the atmosphere was tense again. Ryou was reminded of a time when his school visited a bee farm. The cumulative buzzing of thousands of bees had filled the air till he could almost feel it in his bones. He’d waited on the bus that day, playing gin rummy with the bus driver until everyone came back.

But now there was no bus to hide in, no kindly old bus driver to distract him as Marik put a hand on his shoulder and bent down to pluck a piece of pita from the plate. He dunked a corner into Ryou’s soup before eating it slowly. 

“I thought I told you not to touch my property,” Bakura growled at him, voice sharp and brittle. Marik stood, licking his fingers, hand still resting on the smaller boy’s shoulder. Ryou had gone very quiet and very still under that hand. Anger simmered up inside him. This was his house, so why did he so often feel unsafe in it? He shook his shoulder, pushing Marik’s touch away. He stood with the pretense of pouring himself more water. The older male smiled like he’d done something amusing, but turned to address Bakura.

“Why shouldn’t I touch your property when you have mine over to cook you dinner,” he asked, popping the last bite of bread into his mouth and licking his fingers.

“I’m not your property,” came Malik’s voice, firm and with the first heat of anger to it.

“So you keep saying,” Marik retorted. “My point is if Bakura gets one on one time with my…” one of those hysterical little laughs bubbled out of him, “better half, then why shouldn’t I get the same privilege?”

“I came here to visit Ryou. Bakura had nothing to do with it. And it’s not one on one time, there are three of us,” Malik argued. Marik shrugged and dropped into Ryou’s abandoned chair.

“I’m simply asking for the same privilege.”

“Fine.” 

Three sets of eyes swiveled to look at Ryou. He stood leaning against the sink, water glass full and held in both hands. He was afraid his hands might shake if they weren’t holding onto something.

“Ryou—” Bakura’s growl almost made him back down, but he held his ground.

“No, it’s fine. Malik and I are going to see that movie before it goes out of theaters. Marik can come along too.” Silence buzzed in the room again. Said Egyptian man clapped.

“Perfect!” he let out a laugh. “That’s settled then.” Bakura and Malik exchanged a glance and something passed between the two of them and Bakura let ou another low growl. Marik stood and started for he door.

“We’ll be leaving then,” he stopped on his way to stand very close to Ryou, forcing the shorter boy to look up at him. “And thank you Ryou, for being so sensible about this.” Then he was sweeping from the room with Malik in tow. He pointed to his cell phone, signaling he’d text Ryou soon.

As soon as the front door closed Bakura rounded on his smaller counterpart. 

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he demanded, voice tight and clipped. Ryou turned, dumping out the water.

“He’s not going to stop. Whatever he’s doing, he’s not going to stop until he gets what he wants, and I’d at least like to figure out what the hell it is. Besides, Malik will be there. And we’ll be in public. What’s the worst he could do?”

As he turned to face the room again Bakura threw a punch. His fist connected solidly with Ryou’s cheek and he tasted blood.

“Fine! You want to take things into your own hands? Be my guest, Ryou! But don’t fucking count on me for help. You’re on your fucking own with this one. Understand?!” Bakura was screaming by the end, his face a tight knot of rage. Ryou had collapsed back against the counters with the swing, one hand pressed to his split lip. He stored a little dazed as Bakura stormed from the room, then the apartment, slamming the door hard enough he could feel it.

At length he stood, hands shaking slightly. He’d been left alone to clean both the kitchen and the blood from his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to put out! I had a serious case of writers block and everything I wrote for it was just crap, so I had to start over. 
> 
> Anyway, please review and leave any requests/suggestions you want!


	6. Chapter 6

The very next morning Ryou's phone started dinging instantly, messages from Malik confirming the movie and giving him the choice of showtimes. He picked one solidly in the middle of the day, that way it'd still be light out when they left the theater. Malik's next question was about lunch. Did he want to get it now, or after the movie?

Ryou frowned at the phone in his hand. Food and a movie? That could take quite a long time depending on where they went… and Bakura hadn't come home yet. He chewed the edge of his thumbnail thoughtfully for a few moments. Though… it wasn't like Bakura could yell at him for being gone if he wasn't even there. Besides, the older boy had no right to tell him what to do.

Sure. Let's go before. He sent back. Ryou smiled softly at the phone. He hadn't realized how much he needed this, to feel normal, to just meet up with some friends for a movie. Well… one friend and his raving psychotic alter ego made flesh and blood. Okay, so he had a skewed perception of normal. It'd been a rough few years.

Ryou sighed and pushed himself up off the couch and wandered into the bathroom to brush his hair. He frowned at the refection in the mirror. His lip was split from Bakura's little tantrum and a small bruise had blossomed near the bottom of his chin, a hazy smudge of dark brown on his pale skin. He ran the pad of his thumb over the cut and winced. When he licked the inside of his lip he tasted blood and the sort of raw taste from where his teeth had torn at the thin flesh. Ryou sighed again, hands going to the edges of the sink and bracing himself up. The split lip wasn't that bad, just a little line of dark healing skin, you couldn't even see it from a distance. The bruise was a little more noticeable, though he supposed not all that uncommon on a boy his age, though it'd been years since he'd gotten into an actual fight. His phone dinged again and he pulled it out wearily. How was he going to explain this to Malik? He knew the other boy better well enough to know he wouldn't let it go.

Okay! We're otw to your place. Be there in 10. Ryou blinked. He'd figured they would meet somewhere for the food, but Malik's place was fairly close, and his apartment was on the way, so it did make sense. He shook his head, he was being weird again, overly cautions like always. He needed to just let go and have some fun for once. He only had enough time to detangle his hair and throw on some clothes before his doorbell was ringing. Ryou tugged a hoodie out of his closet and dashed to the door while pulling it over his head. He opened the door with his long hair still trapped in black fabric, an almost excited expression on his face till he saw Marik looming behind Malik. He'd almost forgotten the other man was coming, that this whole thing was to appease this man. Ryou pushed his hands into the pocket of the hoodie and stepped out of the apartment a little more sedately, picking out the key to lock the door behind him.

"Ryou, what happened to your chin?" Malik asked, voice soft as if he might already know the answer. Ryou shrugged.

"it's not a big deal," he said, but when he turned from locking the door a bronze hand was coming at his face. He flinched violently, a wave of déjà vu washing over him. Malik grabbed his chin anyway, though his fingers were gentle. He tipped the albino boy's head this way and that, examining the little bruise and damaged lip.

"Ryou, how did this happen?" he asked, voice firm. Ryou shrugged again.

"It's fine, really. It doesn't even hurt," he said, resisting the urge to push Malik's hand away.

"I asked you how this happened," Malik reiterated, turning his face so he could look the other boy in the eye. Ryou frowned and finally did pull his chin out of Malik's grasp.

"And I said I don't want to talk about it. Now where do you wanna eat?" Malik looked like he was about to say something else, but Marik who had been surprisingly silent through all of this, answered Ryou's question.

"How about fast food?" Marik led the way to the stairs. Ryou fell in stop beside the taller man while Malik took up the rear.

"Sure. How about the burger place next to the theater?" Ryou suggested.

"Ryou I—" Malik started but Marik cut him off.

"Don't press him, omocha."

"Stop calling me that," Malik hissed. Marik just laughed in response. Ryou buried his hands in this pockets and wondered why he'd thought this would be a normal day.

Malik didn't say anything after that, he just followed a step or two behind them, texting furiously on his phone. Without the younger Ishtar to lubricate the conversation the three of them fell into a lengthy and uncomfortable silence, save for Malik's occasional growls and the electronic clicking of buttons on his phone. Ryou glanced back several times, wondering whom his friend was texting and worrying that he might already have a clue. The silence stretched, though the more Ryou thought about it the more he realized he was the only one uncomfortable with it. Malik had his texting buddy and Marik seemed quite content matching Ryou's slightly shorter stride and following the white haired boy. Since no one objected to it, Ryou steered the trio to the burger shop. It was less of a restaurant and more of a stand with a littering of picnic tables in front. Marik and Malik got the same thing, hamburger with bacon and the works, Ryou got a cheeseburger and the three of them decided to share a basket of fries.

Ryou had never seen Marik eat, and somehow it looked wrong. He'd always thought of the Egyptian as a sort of… interloper on reality. Not bound to the same rules as the rest of them, surely above the need for something as mundane as food. But he sat across from Ryou, mixing ketchup and mayo together to dip his fries in.

"Is there a particular reason you wanted to see a horror film Ryou?" Marik asked, snapping the pale boy from his thoughts. He shrugged, popping a fry in his mouth.

"I've always liked horror movies," he answered simply.

"But why?" Marik asked, watching Ryou very intently, eyes locked on his face and waiting for an answer. Ryou fidgeted under the scrutiny and took a sip of his drink, just to do something with his hands while he thought.

"I like how there's always a solution. They set the ghost free, the cursed item is destroyed, the demon is banished. I guess I find them very hopeful that way," he said softly. When he looked up Marik was watching him with an unreadable expression. Malik on the other hand was nodding slowly.

"I can see that…" he said thoughtfully, then smiled at Ryou. That's a really interesting way to look at things." Ryou smiled back and went back to his meal.

The flow of conversatoin was very different from when he'd eaten with Bakura and Malik. Though the two were supposedly fighting it was the sort of fighting very close friends or family does, where feelings are hurt and mean words are tossed about, but always underneath is a great fondness and concern for the other. They could talk and joke and even if it was at the others' expense, it was really just a joke.

Malik barely spoke to his dark counterpart, and when he did it was in a tight, clipped voice. Marik seemed content making cryptic remarks and slipping in comments to bother the other boy. Marik knew just what little jibes to throw in, exactly what words would make the boy tense up, bristle, even look away with an expression shockingly close to shame or even fear on his face. The whole thing was done very subtly, and if Ryou hadn't been victim to very similar circumstances he might have missed the signs; the way Malik's Adam's apple bobbed in his throat nervously, or when his fingers tightened around his drink. And the more Ryou watched them he realized Marik was… touching him. Little brushes of their hands when they both reached for a fry, their shoulders pressing together despite the ample room of the bench and Malik's constant fidgeting. Even as Ryou watched Marik's hand dipped below the table and Malik's face contorted in revulsion. Ryou expected his friend to yell, tell the other man to back off, maybe even throw a punch; Malik had always had a temper. Ryou never expected him to duck his head down, to hide his reaction. Ryou scooted down a little so he could see Malik's face and the look of resignation, of despondency and those lilac eyes glittering with—. Ryou was suddenly on his feet.

He felt something like a great pressure in his muscles, a fullness, as if his whole body and coiled up in preparation to spring. He surged forward, one hand slapping down on the table, the other shooting out to wrap around Marik's thick wrist. Ryou yanked the hand up and out of his friend's lap, the motion followed by two sets of lilac eyes.

"Do not. Fucking touch him," his voice came out as a low growl and hot enough to scald. None of them moved for a few breathless moments, but then Ryou's head seemed to catch up with his actions. He let his gaze slide away from Marik's eyes and found they'd attracted quite a bit of attention, people watching the scene from their own tables and a few passersby who were lingering to watch the show. Ryou uncurled his fingers slowly, they came away stiff and sat back in his seat.

"Ryou…" Malik started, but he didn't seem to know how to finish his thought. He just pushed his hands into his lap and stared at his half eaten burger. Marik giggled. Ryou watched as the giggling intensified to little hiccupping chuckles and he kept going until h was laughing so hard he was bent over at the waist and sounded more insane than mirthful.

Ryou sat stock still, frozen and unsure of what to do. He looked to Malik and found that his friend had retreated into himself, his shoulders rounded and arms pulled in tight against his body. When Ryou bent enough to see under the sandy bangs he found his friend's face blank and distant, as if he'd tucked himself somewhere far from where this was happening. Ryou glanced around and found that most of the rubberneckers had moved on. He was surprised, though he supposed that without the threat of physical violence they'd lost interest. Even Marik's wild laughter was starting to die down, though those weird little giggles kept coming out, like an involuntary vocal twitch.

"S-sorry," giggle, "I think I got my—" giggle, "my Bakuras mixed up," Marik forced out, taking a sip of soda to calm himself. Ryou had no idea how to respond, or what that even meant, so he just stood up with his tray.

"We're gonna be late to the movie," he warned quietly. They were in no such danger, but Malik seemed happy of the excuse. It gave him a reason to do something other than sit there and distance himself. Malik picked up his tray and Marik dumped his empty wrapper onto it before he left the table, then headed off toward the theater without another word. Ryou looked a question at Malik, bu the other boy just shrugged.

They threw out their trash and Ryou turned toward the theater when Malik stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm. Ryou glanced at him, but the blonde was making steady eye contact with the ground. They stood for a few seconds like that, the silence pressing in and building up once again.

"Ryou…" Malik finally said, "Don't… don't worry about me. I can handle Marik." His voice had started as barely more than a whisper, but grew with each word as Malik regained his composure. It was almost like he was pulling himself back together layer by painful layer, rebuilding himself until he was the same confident, unflappable boy as ever. It made Ryou wander how many of those layers were lies, how many times Malik could afford for them to be torn away before they would be unsalvageable. Ryou looked away from the mask Malik had assembled. In another life, under different circumstances he might have said something, told Malik he'd be okay, or that things would be okay, get better. Instead he just nodded and walked away.

Marik had bought all of their tickets. Ryou felt odd accepting anything from the man, even pulled out his wallet to pay him back, but Marik just walked away and Malik wouldn't take his money. It felt childish to argue, so he put his wallet away and followed both blondes into the dark theater.

They sat in the middle of the row in the middle of the room at Ryou's request, and he end up in the middle of the three of them. Malik and Ryou shared one armrest easily, slender arms taking up their allotted room. Marik however, pressed himself to Ryou in a hard line from shoulder to elbow. He thought about saying something, but he knew Marik would just laugh or something. He tried to ignore it instead.

The movie was exactly what he expected, full of jump scares and women appearing in mirrors and not in the least bit scary, though you'd never know from Malik's frightened gasps and startled little screams. The film didn't bother Ryou, what did bother him was Marik's body pressed flush against his, how he seemed to be pressed much closer than was strictly necessary. He ignored it as best he could until Marik traced a finger gently over the back of his hand. His entire body jolted, muscles contracting at the same his stomach clenched violently. Ryou snatched his hand away, folding his arm into his lap and turned to look at Marik incredulously. The Egyptian just kept watching the screen. Ryou frowned and again thought of saying something, but he didn't want to cause another public scene, so he just curled up in his seat with his hands in his lap and tried to watch the movie. Marik's shoulder stayed pressed to his, but he stopped touching the younger boy after that.

When the movie ended Malik shot to his feet, eager to leave the dim theater. Ryou and Marik trailed behind him, the albino boy trying to keep a wide gap between them.

"Ryou, that was fucking terrifying. I'm not going to sleep for a week! How did you talk me into this?" Malik whined, stomping out of the theater and down the sidewalk. Ryou smiled.

"It wasn't that bad."

"Yes it was. They all died! How is that in the least bit 'hopeful'?" Malik demanded, slowing enough for Ryou to catch up.

"It was happening to someone else," Ryou said, no inflection to his voice, no real awareness that he'd said that out loud. Silence fell over them yet again and stayed until they reached Ryou's apartment. They stood clustered around the door as Ryou pulled his keys from his pocket. He hesitated.

"I'd invite you in but Bakura…" he trailed off, not wanting to start another argument with Malik. Thankfully his friend just nodded.

"Sure, sure. This was fun, we should do it again," Malik said wit hi his regular wide smile. Ryou couldn't help but smile back.

"Aren't you forgetting something, little Ryou?" Marik asked, a smile that was more a bearing of teeth on his face. Ryou felt his stomach flip, his blood turn to ice in his veins. He opened his mouth to say that wasn't a funny joke, but Marik had lunged forward. His hands landed on Ryou's shoulders, pushing him till his back hit the door with a solid thwap, and then Marik's lips were pressing against his bruised ones. The kiss, like everything about Marik, was violent; their teeth clicked together and Ryou's lip split open again, flooding his tongue with the bright copper taste of blood. Ryou brought both arms up and slammed his forearms into Marik's chest, hitting as hard as he could. The force shoved the larger boy back several steps.

"Stop it! Stop fucking touching me and playing with me. I'm a person! Not some… thing for you to poke at when you're bored. I don't know what the fuck is going on with you and Bakura, but leave me the fuck out of it!" Ryou was yelling, actually yelling. His hands had balled themselves into fists and his entire body had started shaking with barely contained rage.

"Come on, come on Marik, lets just go. Please let's just go," Malik said, a hand on Marik's wrist and trying to pull the taller man down the hallway. Marik wouldn't be led off so easily, he opened his mouth to say something, but Ryou just unlocked his front door and escaped into his apartment. He slammed the door hard enough to feel the vibration through his shoes. He spun and leaned his whole body against the door, sinking slowly to the floor. As the anger ebbed away he was left suddenly exhausted. Physically tired and emotionally drained. Tears pricked at his eyes and slowly fell down his cheeks.

"Great. Fucking perfect…" he growled bitterly to himself and tried to stop crying. He wasn't even sure why.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm making this up as I go pretty much, so if you have a request/suggestion please let me know! And pleeeaaase review!


	7. Chapter 7

Ryou's lungs burned. He was sitting cross-legged on the tiled floor of his bathroom with a half empty bottle of bleach, gloves up to his elbows, and a ragged sponge floating in an inch of what must be mostly bleach at this point, thus the burning. His eyes watered and he tried to wipe them with the shoulder of his tank top. 

He leaned away from the tub, angling toward the open door in an attempt to get a breath of clean air and to stop the incessant coughing. In trying to clear his lungs of the gas trapped inside his lungs had made his throat raw and painful. Finally he stood, holding his breath as he finally opened the drain and retreated into the hallway, diaphragm twitching and his coughs sounding more and more wet. When he finally caught his breath he stayed leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment.

It was around 3:30 in the morning. He'd woken up from a nightmare, something about his mother and the bathtub. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until he'd cleaned it. Again. Never in all of Japan had there been a cleaner bathroom. 

The creak of a door brought his attention down the hall to his own bedroom. It opened and a wild mop of cotton colored hair poked out. Bleary eyes found his and Bakura walked toward him, stretching long arms over his head.

"Ryou, why are you up?" Bakura asked, coming to stand in front of him in nothing but a pair of black boxers. 

"Couldn't sleep..." he said, voice hoarse from the bleach. Bakura's gaze flicked to the bathroom, nostrils flaring. 

"...why are you cleaning in here again?" he asked, tone gentle, almost concerned. It made no sense to the smaller boy.

"I couldn't sleep," Ryou repeated, his eyes fixing on Bakura's shadow thrown into sharp relief against the opposite wall from the light in the bathroom. 

"But why did you start cleaning in here again? Why not watch TV or clean in the kitchen at least?" Bakura insisted. His tone was definitely one of concern, concern and something else. Had he woken him up? The smell wafted into their room, the sound of running water shaken him from his sleep? Why did it matter to Bakura what he did or when? Ryou let his gaze slide away, focusing on a corner of the floor, looking anywhere but Bakura's face. 

"I just cleaned the kitchen yesterday. It's not dirty." Silence filled the space between them, expanding like a bubble. Bakura crowded him, standing too close, always too close. Ryou pressed himself more firmly to the wall, back pressed flush to it and feeling the cooler temperature seep through his shirt. 

"Ryou, come back to bed." The boy fidgeted, glancing back into the bathroom. He knew it was clean, spotless; probably breeding some sort of giant, bleach resistant super germ; but he still wanted to scrub at the tiles, clear them of stains that only lived in his mind. One hand came up to rub at the bare skin of the opposite arm. The motion spread bleach residue and water from the gloves, leaving a red mark on his white flesh. Bakura took his wrist, pulling the hand away and holding it. Ryou's eyes locked on the hand, waiting for the flesh to split along the fingers like overfilled sacks of fluid, to spill blood and puss and liquid flesh and—! He swallowed hard.

"I should... go over it one more time..." he said, realizing how it sounded even as the words came out of his mouth. 

"Ryou..." Bakura's voice buzzed, somewhere between angry and something else...maybe worried. Ryou blinked, eyes still locked to the hand on his wrist. The flesh stayed firm, fingers wrapped around the rubber encasing his own hand. The barrier helped a little. 

"I need to at least rinse out the tub. Or the smell won't go away." Bakura made a small, annoyed sound, pulling the gloves off of his arms and tossing them into the sink to dry. He missed the cringe Ryou made when their bare skin connected.

"Go get in bed. I'll do it." He gave the smaller boy a little push toward their bedroom. Ryou hesitated until Bakura stepped into the bathroom and he heard running water. A few seconds passed before he stepped through the open door, eyes falling on their shared bed. One pillow was wadded up and sitting closer to the middle of the bed than the top. Bakura's pillow. He used it almost like a stuffed animal. Ryou always woke up to find his twin hugging the pillow tight to his chest, face tucked down into the top of it. He looked younger when he slept, almost innocent without his perpetual sneer. Ryou crawled onto his half of the bed and tugged the sheets up to his neck. He heard the splashing from the bathroom stop, but Bakura didn't come back.

The older boy had come home shortly after Ryou's 'date'. He'd been expecting a sort of interrogation from Bakura, but they'd hardly exchanged words. Bakura watched TV while Ryou cloistered himself in the bedroom and read until it was time to go to sleep. Bakura didn't ask him what had happened or anything at all, but Ryou couldn't feel relieved, he was simply waiting for the storm. He knew even if he didn't tell Bakura about the kiss, Marik would, sooner or later. The Egyptian would tell him to gain a point in whatever weird power play was going on between them.

Ryou sighed and rolled onto his side right as the door opened. Bakura placed a glass of water on the bedside table and slipped between the sheets next to his twin, heat pressing a line against the smaller boy's back. The rustle of sheets and sof creaking of the bed gave way to the kind of weighted silence Ryou was beginning to become accustomed to. 

"Ryou. Stop cleaning the bathroom," Bakura's voice came out quiet, strangely intimate in the dark room. Or maybe Ryou just felt that way since they were both in bed. He didn't answer at first. "Ryou," his voice was a little louder this time.

"I'll have to clean it eventually." Bakura sighed next to him, pulling the pillow into his arms and squeezing it tightly, making the fluff dimple around his forearms. 

"At least give it a week or two. And no more bleach, it stinks in there," Bakura said. Ryou nodded in the dark and closed his eyes. 

Scant hours later they were woken by a phone going off. Ryou groaned, woken so suddenly he was having a hard time making his eyes focus. Bakura pressed the buzzing thing into his hand and he swiped it before holding it to his ear.

"Hello?" he asked, voice thick with sleep.

"Ryou! How you doing kiddo?" came a chipper voice, sounding much more alert than Ryou remembered feeling in a long time. He blinked, not recognizing the voice for a second.

"Dad?"

"Yup! Whachya doing still in bed?" his father joked. Ryou glanced at the clock on his desk and suppressed another groan. Next to him Bakura was still laying down, but he was awake, listening and watching Ryou's face intently.

"It's 5 in the morning Dad..."

"Wha—? Oh shit, the time difference!" his dad yelled, causing Ryou to pull the phone away from his ear. To early for volume. "I'm sorry Ry. Well then I'll make this quick so you can go back to sleep. You're still on vacation, right?" The boy was a little surprised he'd remembered.

"Uh...yeah. We've got another week off," he said, glancing at the calendar over his desk.

"Perfect! I'm coming home later today. I'm getting a plane in a few hours. I can be home for two days! How does that sound kiddo?" he asked. Ryou cringed at 'kiddo', but otherwise this was great news.

"Sounds lovely dad. I missed you."

"I missed you too. I'll see you tomorrow, we'll go see a movie or something. One of those spooky films you like so much."

"We don't have to do that. Won't you be tired from the flight?" Laughter filled Ryou's ear.

"Are you implying that I'm an old man? I'll be fine Ry, I wanna do something fun with my kid. But right now I've gotta go give everyone their marching orders for while I'm gone. I love you kid. I'll see you soon."

"Love you too dad. Bye," Ryou said, then hung up. He flopped back down on his bed, tossing the hone somewhere near his hip. He turned a little, settling in and Bakura's face swam into his periphery. 

"So he's coming back?" Bakura asked, though it wasn't really a question.

"Yeah. For two days." 

Oh, right Bakura. Ryou's father had gone been gone three months, about a week after his departure, Bakura had gained his own body. Ryou didn't know exactly how that had happened. He'd been locked in his soul room for much of the time leading up to it. Even more than usual. The actual night their bodies split was a blur of images and pain in his head. He could picture Malik's face, pale and covered in sweat, the bright ring of a few hundred candles, wet, sticky grass and the color red. And pain. A lot of pain. He'd thought he was dying, welcomed it at one point, toward the end. He'd passed out, and when he woke he'd been in his own bed, with Bakura next to him. It was an awkward reunion.

Ryou was roused from his thoughts when Bakura flopped both arms heavily onto the pillow on his stomach. 

"I guess if it's just for a few nights I'll go stay somewhere else. Probably Malik's," he said. Ryou blinked. 

"Are...you sure?" he asked, not because he didn't want Bakura to leave, but he felt like he was supposed to ask.

"Not like we can explain who I am to the Old Man. It's easier for me to disappear for now," Bakura sighed again and glanced at Ryou sidelong. "Why? Will you miss me while I'm gone, little Ryou?" This time his voice came out like a purr, dark and full of a meaning Ryou didn't want to dissect. Instead he stared at the ceiling.

"I'm not 9 anymore. It doesn't make sense to call me that. I'm not little." Ryou retorted, curling a little in on himself. Bakura looked over at him with an expression he couldn't read.

"No. You certainly aren't." He couldn't read Bakura's tone either. He flipped over, giving the demon his back, and closed his eyes again to sleep.

When Ryou woke for the third time Bakura was gone, along with some of his clothes from the closet. A cursory search of the apartment showed he was alone. Ryou sat on the couch in the living room, staring at the blank TV screen.

What would it have been like living alone in this apartment? No dad, no Bakura, just him. What would his life be like if Bakura wasn't in it at all? He leaned back, resting his head against the couch and closing his eyes. Yugi might come over, he'd probably bring Anzu, Honda, and Jounuchi. Maybe even some of the others who hung out with their group. Ryou would have friends again. People he could invite to spend time with him, or he might go to their houses without having to answer question after question when he got home. And Malik. If there was no Bakura... Ryou had noticed the way the Egyptian boy's eyes followed him. He'd always know n it was because of the time Bakura and Malik were together, but if there was no Bakura, maybe when Malik watched him like that, Ryou would now it was because Malik wanted him. Just him and not the ghost of some affair with a stolen body. If there was no Bakura...maybe they would have dated. Maybe be in a relationship. And his world would be a little less...

Ryou glanced around the empty room, then stood. He should probably clean before his dad arrived. He picked up a glass and a plate from the living room after fluffing a few pillows. With the dishes in the dishwasher the kitchen and living room were tidy, and the thorough scrubbing the kitchen had had after his...disagreement with Bakura, it didn't need anymore cleaning. He'd already made his bed, and there wasn't enough laundry to bother doing a load. Maybe he could take a shower, even though he wasn't really dirty either. It would waste some time at any rate

There was a sticky note on the bathroom door, written in Bakura's small, tight handwriting. It read:

Stop cleaning the fucking bathroom

Ryou balled the note up and threw it in the near empty trashcan under the sink. The small room still smelled of bleach, though less than it had last night. It didn't make his head swim anyway. Every tile gleamed, even the seldom washed ones behind the toilet. The steam from the shower seemed to both intensify the smell and rinse it away. by the time he was done the room almost smelled normal. Stepping out of the shower he heard the front door open. Ryou wrapped a towel around his waist and tuck his head out the door, assuming it was Bakura coming back for something he forgot. Instead a man in his mid forties, with black hair and darker skin than his son's stood in at the door, already pulling on his special slippers, the ones with bright blue ones with the extra padding.

"Dad?" he asked in surprise, not expecting his parent for at least a few more hours. His father smiled, looking up at Ryou with a giant grin that took up his whole face. His brows raised a little when he took in Ryou's thin chest, his jutting collarbones, the way his ribs pushed under the skin. Ryou didn't notice the look.

"Surprise kiddo! I got an earlier flight out," he explained. 

"You should have called me. I would have met you at the airport," Ryou admonished a bit, a little embarrassed at being caught coming out of the shower. He pulled self consciously at the towel, making sure it was completely closed.

"Well that wouldn't be much of a surprise, now would it?" his dad said. He had always enjoyed setting up surprises, especially for Ryou and Amane. "Anyway, just go get dressed and we'll go grab lunch, okay?"

Ryou gladly took the excuse to retreat into his bedroom. He yanked on clothes and glanced at his damp hair in the mirror. Normally he'd blow dry it, but that could take up to 20 minutes and his father didn't have long here, so he scooped it into a ponytail and left it to air dry.

He found his dad rooting through the fridge, a frown making the bridge of his nose and forehead wrinkle up. Ryou leaned against the doorframe, still trying to believe that his father was actually here. It'd been a long time. The fridge door closed and his father spotted him. 

"Well Ry, you seem to have a great assortment of condiments. You eat a lot of take out?" he teased. Ryou smiled back, shrugging his shoulders.

"No. I've been meaning to go to the store, just haven't gotten around to it yet. My friend came over last night and we cooked. Used up what I had left," Ryou said. It wasn't a complete lie. Malik had come by and cooked, though it was a few days ago now and he'd brought all of the food.

"Is that what's in the tubberware?"

"Yup."

"What is it?"

"Red lentil soup. It's really tasty." His father glanced at the fridge, looking surprised.

"Yugi made that?" he asked. Ryou shook his head, surprised himself that he remembered Yugi's name, though he'd been the only friend Ryou had ever brought home when his dad still lived— before he went away. For work. Ryou crossed his arms over his chest.

"No, my friend Malik did." His dad walked past him, carrying a suit case that he slung into his bedroom before closing the door.

"Malik...that's an Egyptian name, right? Is he from there?" he asked, coming back into the kitchen.

"Yeah. Moved here a few months ago."

"How come?" he asked. Ryou bit his lower lip, turning toward the front door. How to answer that question? 'To get revenge for on a centuries old Pharaoh whose spirit resides in a teenager's body. That's Yugi, by the way, but don't worry he's sort of over it'. 

"His dad's work." There, that's much simpler.

"What does his dad do?" his own father persisted. Ryou suppressed a sigh. He'd forgotten how exhausting his father could be.

"I didn't ask." Thankfully the subject was dropped. 

They went to the grocery store around the corner first, his father leading the way through aisles and tossing items into the cart. Ryou tried to put much of it back, knowing it would go bad before he could use it, but his dad insisted. They brought the food back to the apartment and put it all away before heading out again for a late lunch. The were walking down the sidewalk without a clear destination in mind when his dad finally asked him where he'd like to go.

"I don't know. You're the one coming in from out of town. Is there anywhere you want to go while you're home?" Ryou asked. He named a restaurant they'd been to a number of times over the years, but neither of them had been to lately. Ryou agreed and they heading in that direction. The apartment was in a nice central location, close enough that most places were within walking distance, but still on a quiet street.

During the walk over his father had Ryou fill him in on his life, asking a million questions. School was fine, got a few tests back, all A's. Yugi is doing fine too, yes he won that tournament thing, no he didn't have a girlfriend yet. At one point his father reached out and wrapped a lock of Ryou's hair around his fingertip. 

"Your hair is getting pretty long," he commented. Ryou shrugged, pushing his hands into the pockets of his hoodie.

"I guess."

"You gonna cut it?"

"I don't think so. I like it long." The hand in his hair dropped to his shoulder, fingers squeezing lightly at the thin boy.

"You've lost some weight too, right?" he asked, voice full of concern. Ryou shrugged again. "I'm sending enough money for you to eat right? Do you need more?" Ryou shook his head, suddenly feeling guilty for making his father worry.

"No, no. I'm fine. I grew a little, so it's probably just a hormone thing," he assured. His dad agreed, though most likely only because they'd arrived at the restaurant. They found a booth and a waitress came to get their drink orders. Once they were alone again Ryou's father looked at him solemnly.

"So, I gotta come clean. I caught an earlier flight because I have to leave tomorrow night," he told Ryou. The boy nodded, folding his hands in his lap. He'd expected something like this.

"That's fine. At least you got to come out," Ryou said. The waitress came back with their drinks, leaving two paper wrapped straws between them. He picked one up, peeling the top open and pulling the rest off. "When do you think the dig will be done?" His father let out a small noise, something between a gulp and a squeak, and gave him a guilty look.

"Well...you remember when I said we might have found a well?" he asked. Ryou nodded. "We did. We thought there might be a building there, but it was a whole outpost, a few buildings all around the well. It might have been a last stop for water on the way into the desert," his words started to slur a little as his excitement grew. Ryou couldn't help but smile softly, his father was really living his dream job. He took a sip of soda, listening silently. "But uh... the bad news is I can't really leave, not when we found something this big." his father held his hands up, fingers spread. "I mean its..." words failed him.

"How long will you be gone?" Ryou asked, eyes fixed on his drink as he used the straw to stir ice. His smile was gone and a thick network of knots was forming in his stomach.

"Another six months," he said. Ryou waited for the words to hit him, to filter through the sudden static in his head, make his blood turn to ice, make his breath stop, some physical representation to show him how to feel. But he just sat there, stirring his drink mechanically while his dad waited for a reaction.

"Six months?" he repeated quietly. Six months alone with Bakura. Half a year with no way out, no way to protect himself, nothing to stop the demon from cracking his mind. His hand swirled round and round in circles, making a vortex of fizzy brown liquid. Something like a heavy pressure settled on his chest, pressing through his numbed mind as he kept stirring.

"Ry, please say something." Ryou stopped his hand. Six months for Bakura to lay more bruises on him, like the rapidly fading one his father had failed to notice.

"I understand. Your work is really important. I'm fine here." The words came out of a stranger's mouth. Like he'd spoken them, but his brain hadn't issued the command for his tongue to form them. They came out calmly even as he felt the pressure on his chest build, could feel his pulse hammering away against his chest. Relief washed over his dad's face.

"Are you sure, kiddo?" he asked, though they both knew Ryou wouldn't change his mind. 

"Yeah, I'm fine," he assured his father. The older man leaned back in his seat, his entire body releasing tension in a wave and his regular wide smile coming back to his face.

"I'm really proud of you Ryou. For taking this so well. You've really grow up well," said his dad. Ryou smiled at the compliment and fucked his head behind the menu. Even though it felt good to make his father happy, the panic was catching up to him now, waves of it rolling through his body. Things were escalating with Bakura, and Marik too, he'd sort of expected his father to come home soon and all of it would end. Everything was building up, he wasn't sure to what, but he knew it couldn't be good. 

Ryou fell quiet after that, though his father held up the conversation, filling the silence through dinner. He talked about the dig and all the office drama that came with his job. After Ryou swallowed half a lunch he could barely even taste, his father delivered on his promise of a horror movie. It was the same one he'd seen only yesterday; and it struck him how even after everything that had happened while he was out with the Ishtars, the weird lunch, yelling at Marik, the kiss, and still today was a hundred times worse.

His father was leaving. In a few hours he would go back to Egypt and Ryou would be at his demon's mercy once again, indefinitely. When would he get any sort of reprieve? And what about the end of the six months? Surely Bakura would be used to having him to himself by that point, unwilling to give it up. He'd even said he only left the apartment since it was a few nights. What about when it was longer? Permanent? What if Bakura wouldn't let that happen? He might force Ryou to move out, continue this weird roommate situation. Or worse. Bakura might do something to his father.

A shudder ran through Ryou, so strong his father felt in in the seat next to him. He leaned in to whisper to Ryou.

"Got me too kiddo. They better burn that doo." he laughed, thinking the movie and scared his son. Ryou nodded mutely.

No. Absolutely no. It had taken years; years and more heartache than a sixteen year old should have to reconcile, but he was finally done. Bakura had to go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will have different warnings/tags, please be sure to read them! Also, this will be going from Mature to Explicit. Please review and give me any requests/suggestions you have :) Sorry for the wait!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains rape.

Ryou spent the next day on the couch with his father, watching crappy horror movies and slowly eating their way though a box of Egyptian candies. Late that night they took a cab to the airport, and later that night Ryou took a cab home to his empty apartment. He half expected Bakura to be in their bed when he got home, but the bedroom was just as empty as the rest of the rooms. Before he could consciously decide what to do, he found himself on the bed with his yearbook in his lap.

Bakura had been less than a whisper in his mind in these pictures. Just a dark presence in his dreams, a nagging feeling. He looked happy in those pictures. Young and smiling and surrounded by people and friends. Bakura had stolen days and weeks of his life, but more than that he'd stolen friends, companionship, the tools to fight the crippling loneliness that filled Ryou's life. Sometimes Ryou wondered if he'd stolen even his desire for friends, his knowledge of how to spend time in the presence of others. He could hang out with Yugi and his friends, all he had to do was pick up the phone. They'd welcome him, just like they had before. But still the idea of picking up the phone had him rooted in place, unable to imagine spending hours with people who would ask questions, ask where the marks on him were from, ask why he always smelled faintly of bleach, ask why he flinched sometimes when someone moved too suddenly. He fell back on the mattress with a deep sigh. Bakura had to go. He couldn't allow the demon to leech off him forever. On some level he was glad Bakura had his own body now. It let Ryou know he wasn't insane, that the voice he'd heard for so many years hadn't been created by his own fractured mind. It made it easier to banish him too.

Ryou fell asleep with his yearbook flipped open on the pillow next to him and the box open on the floor beside the bed. He'd hoped to catch a nap before Bakura came home, but an incomprehensible and complicated dream that kept him from sleeping soundly.

There was a baby in a basket, crying. He tried to cross a room to check on the child, but people kept stopping him, hands grabbing his shoulders, fingers winding around his wrists and arms. A figure pulled him close, and Ryou found that none of the people had faces, just smooth featureless planes where eyes and noses should have been. The skin over where the mouth should be writhed, shapes moving under the surface.

"Where are your shoes?" a muffled, thick voice asked. Ryou looked down, but his house slippers were on.

"I'm wearing shoes," he said, eyes drifting to the waiting basket.

"No. You're barefoot. You can't walk around like that," the faceless person insisted, hands tightening around his arms. Ryou tried to point to his shoes, but the figure had drifted away, along with the grip on his arm. He pressed through the crowd, finally reaching the basket, but when he pulled back the blanket, expecting a baby under it, he found the Millennium Ring propped on a pillow, cold and metal, glinting up at him. The crying hadn't stopped and when he turned another faceless creature was there, inches from his nose.

"Why are you crying?" it asked. Another figure heard it, and mimicked the question.

"Why are you crying?" The rest of the crowd picked it up, repeating it over and over, voices raising and battering against him like waves. "Why are you crying? Why are you crying?"

Ryou woke with their voices ringing in his ears and tears drying on his pillow. Bakura sat at their desk, legs crossed and watching Ryou intently. The younger boy sat up, looking away and rubbing harshly at his face.

"I was wondering if I needed to wake you up," Bakura commented, sliding from the chair and onto the bed. He picked up the yearbook, thumbing through the pages. "What were you dreaming about?" Ryou shifted, crossing his legs under him and took a steadying breath.

"Faceless people…and a missing baby…" he summarized, not wanting to think about it. With Bakura in front of him it was a little harder to hold onto his vehemence, harder to imagine having this conversation.

"How was your visit?" Bakura asked conversationally, the book in his lap open to the Club Activities page.

"Good," Ryou answered curtly, trying to decide how to broach the subject of him leaving. How does one evict a demon?

"Did he say when he was coming back?" Bakura asked, idly flipping the page. Ryou licked chapped lips nervously. There was no point in lying. Saying his father was coming home earlier wouldn't change how he felt. Bakura had to leave.

"They found a few buildings, so he'll be over there for another six months. But he'll probably visit before then." The taller boy shifted next to him and Ryou caught the wide smile that spread over his face.

"Ah. So it'll be just the two of us for a while longer. Won't that be nice?" Bakura's voice came out almost like a purr. It tingled down Ryou's spine like a trickle of acid.

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he could think about it. But even once his head caught up with his mouth he didn't want to take it back. Bakura glared at him with eyes narrowed down to slits.

"Care to repeat that, little Ryou?" his voice came out just as dark as his tone. Ryou took another steadying breath, digging his nails into his palms.

"No. It's not going to be just the two of us. You need to stop living here with me. I want you to leave me alone from now on," Ryou choked out around a tongue made of wool. Every muscle in his body clamped and clenched, coiling down in preparation to fight, to defend himself against Bakura's inevitable backlash. Or possibly to flee. Bakura's chest swelled up. Fleeing was starting to look better and better, but then the older boy was laughing. Laughing long and hard and with that manic edge that made him think of Marik.

"Shut the fuck up, Ryou," he managed to spit out between chuckles. Ryou's face twisted with anger.

"I'm serious. I want you to lea—" Bakura's hands wrapped around his throat before he could finish his sentence. The taller boy rode his body back into the bed, landing on top and taking advantage of Ryou's momentary shock to straddle his hips.

"Ryou if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I will shut it. The. Fuck. For you!" Bakura seethed, voice all jagged edges and the color red. His fingers tightened around Ryou's throat, thumbs pressing into his windpipe. Ryou coughed around the pressure, throat trying to dislodge the obstruction. Anger surged through him, white hot and blazing through his veins.

The smaller boy bucked his hips up as hard and fast as he could, flats of his feet pushing against the bed to help him catapult Bakura off his bod and down to the floor. The box of keepsakes was knocked over in the process, frames spilling out across the floor and the stuffed animal rolling under the bed. Ryou swung his feet off the bed, standing before Bakura could get up too. He drew one leg back and lashed forward in a kick to Bakura's ribs. His foot hit solidly, toes connecting and stinging at the clumsy impact, but the boy on the ground gave a satisfying sound of pain. Ryou was bringing his foot back for another blow when a hand wrapped around his ankle and pulled hard. He let out a yelp of surprise and fell back, the floor rising up to meet him and the impact pushing the air from his lungs. Bakura landed on top of him before he could draw breath again. A fist collided with Ryou's chin. Bakura made sure to sit more solidly on Ryou's hips this time so he couldn't buck him off. The boy squirmed on the floor, trying to topple the larger boy.

"Get the fuck off me!" Ryou yelled, throwing his own punch up at Bakura's face. His knuckles connected with the cartilage of Bakura's nose with a thick noise. Blood splattered his fingers when he brought his hand back. Bakura let out a strangled noise that was at least part pain, but mostly rage. He came up on his knees, probably to get a better angle, but when he rose he freed Ryou's hips, and the smaller boy took the chance to flip onto his stomach, trying to crawl away. A hand gripped his hair, fingernails scraping against the scalp. Bakura yanked his head back, straining the muscles in his neck, then bashed his forehead into the floor. Ryou's head spun, black flashing at the edges of his vision as his body went limp. Bakura took advantage of the lull by grabbing the smaller boy's arms and pinning his wrists to the small of his back, holding both in one hand.

Ryou finally snapped to his senses when he felt his pants twitch down his hips. His eyes flew wide open and he twisted as much as he could to look over his shoulder. Bakura sat on the backs of his thighs, one hand pinning his arms and one hand pulling at the button on his own jeans. Ryou thrashed uselessly, took weak to push Bakura off of him.

"Bakura! What the fuck are you doing?" he yelped, bucking again against the ground. Bakura's hand knotted in his hair again, mashing his face into the floor.

"You know, I've been waiting to do this for fucking years now. But I've always waited. I wanted to wait till you wanted it too. But you know what Ryou?" The hand in his hair tightened, pulling painfully at his scalp. "Fuck that. I'm going to teach you your fucking place. Respected. Landlord," he growled between gritted teeth. He ground the heel of his hand into Ryou's temple, then took the hand back to unbutton his pants. They popped open and ryou turned his face away when Bakura's hand tipped into his jeans.

"B-Bakura what…" he started, fighting the sudden fear growing like a lump in his throat. He flet his pants slip down by inches, exposing the top of his hip bones, then the top of his buttocks before it was pinned between his hips and floor. "Stop! You can't…" he gasped, pushing up with all his strength. He managed to push up a few inches, but it only allowed Bakura to yank the pants down the rest of the way, the friction leaving a raw mark on his skin.

"Can't what? Who's going to stop me Ryou? Who the fuck has ever been there for you but me?!" Ryou tried to wrench his arms out of Bakura's grasp, but the demon simply pushed them higher up his back. Ryou gasped in pain as the muscles strained. He squirmed against the cold hardwood floor, but the action only made his shirt ride up exposing him more. Fingers appeared in front of him. "Open your mouth," Bakura ordered. Ryou stared at the digits in front of him in confusion. This couldn't be happening to him. Not really. It had to just be an illusion Bakura was projecting into his head. His vision blurred, tears pressing behind his eyes.

"P…Please," he croaked. Bakura pressed his fingers past Ryou's lips, seeming not to care when his knuckles scraped Ryou's teeth sharply. He swirled his fingers around quickly before rubbing the pads of his fingers over the back of the boy's tongue. He pressed another few inches back and Ryou felt his stomach lurch hard, tongue pressing and a wave of saliva coating the fingers, but then they were gone. The small boy coughed, tears rolling down his cheeks.

"Bakur…a… Please don't. I'm sorry, please stop… I-I'll be good, just don't—" Ryou begged between panicked gasps. Something cold and blunt pressed between his cheeks, up against a part of him he never expected anyone to touch.

"Too late for that," Bakura growls in his ear, and then he's forcing two fingrs inside. Ryou let out a strangled scream, tears washing down his face. He can feel the edges of Bakura's nails scraping along the inside of his body and once again this can't be happening to him.

"Ba…kura… p-please…" he whimpers, shocks rolling through his spine as the fingers start to piston in and out, spreading the muscle open against his will. He presses his chest to the floor and pushes up, trying to push Bakura off, but it only pushes the fingers in farther. He cried out in pain. Bakura shoved him back flush to the ground and pushed Ryou's arms up higher. The new angle makes his upper arms burn, shoulders feeling like they might break. He whimpered in pain.

"Please Bakura. It hurts…" he said, unsure if he meant his arms or his ass. Bakura growled over him, dark and feral. He shrank into the floor, the fight draining out of him with every humiliating thrust. Ryou tucked his chin into his shoulder, trying to make himself smaller, trying to show that he's not a threat anymore, he's just something small and weak that desperately wants to be let go. Bakura shifted above him and the motion wrenched his arms. Ryou took in a ragged breath, the sound laced with pain. "God please Bakura!" he begs, a fresh wave of tears hitting the floor. The fingers inside him still, and for a wild second he thinks Bakura is going to let him go.

"Stop struggling and I'll give you your arms," Bakura offers, tone frigid. Ryou nods, desperate to stop the pain that's starting to spread to his upper back. The fingers around his wrist release slowly and he's a little surprised with his fingers fill with the static feeling of returning circulation. Ryou brings his arms around, tucking them under his chest, fingers curling up under his chin, and trembles. Bakura hasn't moved, as if he's making sure Ryou isn't going to try anything. The boy just lays on the floor and shakes. A sop shudders through him, comprised of fear and pain.

"P…please…" he whispers, breath fogging on the cold floor. Silence presses against his eardrums, then—.

"No." The fingers start pushing into him, but there are three now. Ryou gasps and using his newly freed arms he tried to forward. Bakura let out another feral growl and yanks him back by the hips. "Hold the fuck still!" he hisses in Ryou's ear. One hand wraps around the back of the boy's neck, pressing his face into the floor while the other hand lines up his cock with Ryou's hole.

"No, no, no. I c-can't do this. Please don't Bakura, please, please don't!" Ryou whimpered into the floor. Bakura just fisted his fingers in Ryou's white hair and snapped his hips forward. Ryou screamed, mouth opening wide, but he couldn't bring air back into his lungs, couldn't move, couldn't think past the pain.

Bakura started to move back and forth slowly, dragging himself out till just the tip was inside, then forcing his way back in till he's hilt deep, only to pull out and repeat the process. Ryou finally managed to breathe, taking in ragged breath after ragged breath that all come out as whimpers. The heel of Bakura's hand is back, grinding roughly into the nape of his neck and pressing him down hard.

"Jesus Ryou, you're so fucking tight," Bakura whispered huskily into his ear. He was enjoying this. Enjoying fucking Ryou into the floorboards, enjoying rapei—.

Ryou bucked his hips and earned a pleasured moan from Bakura and a sharp feeling in his ass for the effort. "Fuck… I'm not gonna…gonna…" Bakura's breath was hot in his ear. "Feel so fucking good..." And then teeth were clamping down on his neck, biting into the soft flesh and pulling another sound of pain from the small albino boy. Bakura's length moved in and out of him quickly now, pressing against his insides in a way that he'd never known his body could feel. Ryou felt like Bakura's cock was going to come right out through his belly button, like he was going to split open from the inside out. That's was when Bakura reached around, hand fumbling to find the boy's cock. It was flaccid in Bakura's grasp, and stayed so despite the demon's attentions. He let go with a breathy chuckle. "What kind of punishment would it be if you got off too. We'll have time for that later…" he commented. Ryou could barely understand words, he was too caught up in the pain in his body.

Mercifully, Bakura didn't last much longer. He pumped away at Ryou for a few agonizing minutes, then stilled, one hand clenching the boy's hair tightly and the other pressing bruises into his hip, then spilled inside him. A sob bubbled up from Ryou's throat, building in volume and weight till it popped on his teeth to escape his lips. It was followed by another and another until he was reduced to a sobbing mess under Bakura. The older boy pulled his softened dick out, noting the small droplets of red that came with the streaks of red. He stood slowly, knees a little weak from orgasm. Ryou stayed flat on his stomach, arms curled under his chest as he sobbed on the floor. Bakura pushed at his chin with a toe, forcing the boy to look up at him.

"Are you going to behave from now on?" he asked quietly, as if none of this had just happened. Ryou forced himself to nod, hoping it would be enough because he didn't think he could speak. Bakura seemed satisfied, throwing himself onto the bed and leaving Ryou on the floor to do whatever. The younger boy stayed on the floor for a long time, unsure of how to comprehend what had just happened to him. Bakura would never leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and if you have any requests/suggestions I'd love to hear them :)
> 
> So I will be participating in NaNoWriMo this year (National write a novel month) and while I'm going to try and update this at least twice over the next month, I may not have time. I'm not leaving this story, and I'll make sure to put something up at least once, but it might be kinda short. Sorry in advance!


	9. Chapter 9

Ryou sat in the bathtub curled into a tight ball with his thighs pressed to his chest and his cheek resting on the top of his knees, unfocused eyes pointed at the tiled back wall. The water had long since gone cold and he’d lost track of how long he’d been in here. He still didn’t like this bathtub, never could again after what Bakura made him see here, but being in the tub generally made Bakura leave him alone; bathing was an acceptable reason to be alone. He’d spent the previous night on the floor, huddled into a tiny ball at the side of the bed. When he’d woken up there was a blanket on him that Bakura must have thrown over him, but he still woke with muscles twisted into knots. 

Bakura wasn’t home when he woke up, and that both made him feel better and worse. Better because he couldn’t bear to look at him, not after what he’d done. He never wanted to see him again before he’d… But now. On the other hand it was almost mocking. He’d asked Bakura to leave, ordered him to get out of his home and his life, and now he was. But he’d come back. Of course he would come back, and there was nothing Ryou could do to stop that. He didn’t want to see the man, but…but there was nothing he could do. He’d asked, he’d tried to talk it out, he’d even tried to fight him for the right to his own life, but no. No of course it hadn’t worked and now he was just…waiting. Bakura would come back; and there was nothing Ryou could do about it. He would come back and there was nothing he could do. He would cry if he weren’t so dehydrated, he’d drink something if he weren’t so tired, go sleep if he could bring himself to get out of the tub. 

Ryou wondered if he should tell someone. Isn’t that what you do in this sort of situation? You tell someone, so that… So what? A police investigation could be put out? For whom? The devil incarnate who lives with him? No, officer, he doesn’t have a police file, or ID, or a corporeal body until the last few months. Maybe he should tell one of his friends? Not Yugi, no. He’d tell his ‘darker half’ and Ryou would get another pep talk from the pharaoh, not to mention he wasn’t sure if Yugi’s spirit knew Bakura had his own body and things were just finally settling down. After nearly two years of fighting he was ready for a little peace. Besides, what could they do? Bakura would come back, and there was nothing he could do about it. 

He could talk to Malik, let him know what had happened. It seemed like Marik was causing problems for him too, maybe even the same ones. Looking back at the signs Ryou was fairly certain Malik was dealing with the same problems. So he didn’t need more strife put on his lap, and what’s more…obviously Malik didn’t know what to do about it either. Though perhaps he could just talk to him about it, having someone listen who could really empathize could do nothing but help, right? 

Out in the living room the front door opened, and Ryou hugged his knees a little closer. He lost track of Bakura for a few moments, his footsteps too light to hear even in the silent apartment. The bathroom door creaked on its hinges and the light changed along with a burst of fresh, chilled air coming into the room. He didn’t move, couldn’t face his demon yet, god please, not yet. Bakura sat on the lid of the toilet right next to the bathtub, presumably looking at him, Ryou refused to turn his head to look. 

“How long have you been in here?” Bakura asked. He shrugged mutely and hoped that’s enough of an answer. Bakura was quiet for a few moments, then he spoke again. “Have you eaten today?” Ryou shook his head. “Ryou, get out of the tub.” The smaller boy didn’t move. “Get up.” He still refuses to move. “Ryou!” The demon’s hand wraps around his shoulder hard and tight, fingertips dimpling his skin. He yanks away violently, sending the bath water sloshing up the back wall and over the edge of the tub onto the floor. 

“I’m not ready to get out yet,” he said, voice soft and flat. Bakura looked down at him in the tub, watching him for an elastic moment. He sits back down on the toilet and sighs hard, pressing his hand to his forehead. 

“What’s the matter with you? You can’t just sit in here until you dissolve. Ryou, if you die it will make problems for me.” 

“And that’s really all you care about, isn’t it?” Ryou said, returning to his curled position, eyes locked on the back wall where the tiles still smelled faintly of bleach. Even the grout was spotless. “You’re going to use me up. Like a parasite, sucking everything out of me until I’m just a husk. Then you’ll leave. Wait another 3,000 years till this soul is reborn into another body and you’ll suck the very will out of that boy too. And on and on.” He turned then, to look at Bakura with eyes gone hard and dark with hate. “What’s the end point? What happens when there’s nothing left of me on such an intrinsic level that this soul is devoured too?” 

He’d expected a fight after that, maybe a slap or even a punch, something large and physical and concrete; but Bakura just looked back at him, eyes just as hard as Ryou’s. He crossed his arms over his chest, almost like he needed something to separate himself from the situation, like holding his arms out would create a barrier. When he spoke his voice wasn’t angry, didn’t even hold violence or venom like normal, it was just empty and cold.

“You can’t devour a soul. There’s no way to destroy something like that,” he glances away, eyes roving the plain wall in front of him.   
“Just because it stops being light doesn’t mean it’s gone; the moon doesn’t disappear when it doesn’t shine, it’s just dark now, it’s just different. There are two halves of the same soul, the dark and the light…dead and alive. In order for the dead half to exist it must feed on the live one, the dark huddles around the light because it remembers what life was like,” he paused and uncrossed his arms, touching fingertips to his chest, right where his heart would be. 

“What happens when my dark overtakes your light? Your body will die, but you’ll remain, just like I did. It’ll be your turn to sit in the darkness with nothing to see or touch, reliving the most horrific moments of your life over and over and watch your sanity slip away. You’ll take that darkness into your mutilated soul and you’ll become it. Then one day, when the light half of this soul is born again, you’ll be there. You’ll crawl out of the darkness and huddle around his light and whisper your secrets to him in the hopes that it will take some of the burden from you. That if you can just tell someone, that the voices will leave you. You’ll think that if you can just meld the tattered parts of yourself to them that you’ll form one complete being again and you won’t be alone. But when you reach out looking for help, your other half will cringe and flinch away, he’ll grow to hate you like you hate me. You’ll become me, Ryou.”

Ryou sat in the tub, staring at him for long, thick moments, unable to pull his eyes away and unable to speak. He felt the hope draining out of him, felt the weight of those words batter into his mind and settle themselves deep like a tumor. 

It had happened before. Maybe even to Bakura, some dark whisper of long forgotten pain had come to him in the night and seeped into his brain, filling him up with the dark of the soul that was cursed back in Kul Elna. This was an endless cycle, even both of their deaths wouldn’t stop it. Someone else, some other version of him would be forced to go through this all over again. For some reason his very fucking spirit was cursed to repeat this progression of events forever. 

Bakura left him there, sitting in the same cooling water, just walked out after seating that on him and didn’t even look back as he started to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is really short, I'm sorry! I've just been so tapped for ideas for this. Next one will be longer!

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there! Hope you liked my fic, please review?


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